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A MILLIONAIRE. 


BY HIMSELF. 

dJo, 

; 

A TRUE STORY. 




ILLUSTRATED BY GORDEN H. GRANT. 




NEW YORK: 

COPYRIGHT, 1898, BY 

G» W» Dillmgham Co,, Publishers, 

MDCCCXCVIII. 

\All rights reserved^] 



8782 



TWO COPIES RECEIVED. 


2nd COPY, 

1898. 


CONTENTS 


STRETCH ONE. 

Page 

I GRASP EACH GENTLE READER BY THE BUT- 
TON-HOLE. 7 

A LONGER STRETCH. 

WHERE I START THE BALL A-ROLLING. . 9 

THIRD STRETCH. 

I BECOME AN ANGEL, BUT LEARN I MUST BE 

DAMNED 18 

CHAPTER IV. 

I BECOME A DEVIL, AND AM PUT IN CHARGE 

OF HELL >30 

FIFTH INSTALMENT. 

I P'ALL IN LOVE IN EARNEST. . . . 40 

PORTION SIX. 

I ENTER THE SERVICE OF HEK MAJESTY. . 6/ 


4 


CONTENTS. 


PORTION SEVEN. 

Page 

AN ACQUAINTANCE BOBS UP AND I MAKE A 

COUNTRY VISIT 7 ^ 

CHAPTER VIII. 

HUNTING A FOX, BUT NO FOX HUNTED. . 83 

CHAPTER IX. 

ABDUCTED BY INDIANS. . . , .89 

CHAPTER TENTH. 

I MAKE AN INTERESTING DISCOVERY. . . IO3 

ELEVENTH PORTION. 

SYBIL MYSTERIOUSLY DISAPPEARS . . .10/ 

TWELFTH PART. 

CLARENCE BECOMES A BARE-FOOTED FATHER . ‘114 

THIRTEENTH STRETCH. 

FLORENCE ENTERS A MONASTERY AND BOODLE- 
BURG BECOMES TOO HOT FOR ME SOON 
AFTERWARDS 122 

FOURTEENTH PORTION. 

I ENCOUNTER AN OLD ENEMY, AND AM LEFT 

IN A GARRET FOR DEAD, , . ,129 


CONTENTS. 


5 


FOURTEENTH INSTALLMENT. 

Page 

I MAKE A NEW FRIEND, I BECOME A LORD, 

AND THE TABLES ARE TURNED. . .1^6 


SIXTEEN. 

I BECOME A REPORTER, GfVE YOU A HINT 
ON HOW YOU ARE BEING FOOLED EVERY 
DAY, AND STUMBLE ACROSS TWO OLD 
FRIENDS. 14^ 

SEVENTEENTH PORTION. 

A FEW MORE POINTERS FOR MY DEAR FEL- 
LOW, AND THE TRAGIC DEATH OF THE 
VILLAIN OF THE PLAY. . . . I58 

CHAPTER XVII. 

THE ROLLING STONE STARTS OFF AFRESH. . 167 

EIGHTEENTH STRETCH. 

I MEET TWO GHOSTS 178 

THE TWENTIETH SECTION. 

THE HOME OF THE SELF-MADE AMERICAN 

MILLIONAIRE, AS IT REALLY IS. . . 186 

THIS IS NUMBER TWENTY-ONE. 


THE END OF CLARENCE DEWDNEY. 


. 204 


6 


CONTENTS. 


NUMBER XXII. 


HOW I AMASSED MILLIONS. 

Page 
, . 206 


THE LAST NUMBER BUT ONE. 

WHEREIN I REACH THE END OF MY ROPE. . 214 

THE VERY LAST NUMBER OF THE 
STRETCHES, 


CONCLUDING OBSERVATIONS. 


. 218 


THE MAKING OF A MILLIONAIRE. 


STRETCH ONE. 

I GRASP EACH GENTLE READER BY THE BUTTON- 
HOLE. 

So many books are written nowadays — eighty- 
four every week, my publishers inform me — that I 
feel I must make some apology for piling another 
straw on the heavy-laden horse’s back. 

I hasten to assure you, my dear fellow, that I 
have no axe to grind, no social problem to pro- 
pound, and that I am far above the mere desire for 
your shekels. I have but one object in. view in 
writing this book, and I want to make no secret of 
that. It is to show you what a fool you are, my 
dear fellow, that I have provided me with a pack- 
age of scratch paper and a dozen of newly-sharp- 
ened leadpencils. By calling you a fool, I do not 
mean for a moment to say you have no brains — by 
no means — but everyone who is fooled is a fool — 
isn’t he ? — and I am possessed of a strong yearning 
to tell you how you are being fooled every day in 

[ 7 ] 


8 


THE MAKING OF A MILLIONAIRE. 


the year, and that too without your ever “ smelling 
a rat.” 

To do this naturally I must tell the story of my 
own life. Of course you have never heard of Lord 
Dashford, Warren Yessex, and Mrs. Florence Van- 
deraster by the names I will use for the persons in 
question ; but I know it will be a matter of little 
difficulty for you to guess at their real names, 
already knowing — as certainly every English- 
speaking person must know — a good many facts 
about these particular people and others that I 
will have occasion to mention later on. 

One thing more, my dear fellow, before I let go 
your button-hole. Rely upon it that every state- 
ment in this story of my life is the truth, the whole 
truth and nothing but the truth — save, of course 
the names of persons and perhaps the places where 
you find them. 


THE MAKING OF A MILLIONAIRE. 


9 


A LONGER STRETCH. 

WHERE I START THE BALL A-ROLLING. 

As I sit here to-day I am worth one hundred 
millions, and it takes eighty-nine letters to write 
my name in full. It is a fact, nevertheless, that 
when I was born, fifty-six years ago, in Pittsburgh, 
Pennsylvania, my father was a hod-carrier and I 
was just plain Philip Daniels. 

Both my parents were Irish immigrants. My 
father had been lieutenant 
in a British corps of foot 
which was garrisoned in 
the city of Cork in the 
year eighteen hundred and 
such and so. He had made 
love to Martha Duncan, 
second daughter of a neigh- 
boring earl (this is the lit- 
eral truth, although I will 
admit it does flavor of the 
twenty-five cent “ society ” 
novel), but when he made 
bold to ask her hand in 
marriage, his answer was a 
blow in the face from the stiff-necked old Icelander. 
Lieut. James Daniels was then a mere youngster, 
and did not pause to think of consequences when 



16 


THE MAKING OF A MILLIONAIRE. 


he jumped upon the nobleman and gave him such 
a whipping that the latter kept his bed for many, 
many weeks. No doubt my mother acted very 
queerly, but when Lieut. Daniels was expelled 
from the army she bravely stole away with him to 
America, although he had scarcely enough money 
to pay their passage thither. 

Enormous oil-fields were daily being struck in 
the neighborhood of Pittsburg at that time, and 
there my parents managed to reach, fully expect- 
ing in short order to make such a fortune as would 
put them forever beyond the fear of want. But Fate 
wanted his diary to be written differently, and the 
plucky Irish lieutenant went to work as a hod- 
carrier, and his pluckier wife never once despaired. 

Shortly afterwards, yours truly came upon the 
scene. 

By this time my mother’s eldest brother, Lord 
Dashy, discovered her whereabouts, and unknown 
to his father transmitted to her regularly part of 
his own income. He sent also to my father a let- 
ter recommending him to Sir John Alexander, a 
cousin of the family, who was at that time influen- 
tial with the government in power in Canada. We 
moved to the capital of Canada, and before very 
long my father held a civil service position in the 
Dominion government. Shortly afterwards my 
kind uncle, alas, died. 

When children in America have reached the age 
of six or seven, they have become, as a rule, a 
nuisance around a home, and I was no exception. 
I had played the George Washington racket on a 


THE MAKING OE A MILLIONAIRE. II 

young maple tree which stood just outside the 
front entrance to our house, and although I was 
conversant with that little experience of the father 
of his country, I must confess that when my father 
asked me if it were I who had chopped off the bark 
I did not own up to the performance of the deed. 
I had also succeeded in taking the sides out of a 
concertina just to see where the music came from ; 
I had sliced off the end of Charlie’s tail just to 
hear how loudly he could yelp ; and I had hit with 
a heavy hammer a costly vase which stood in the 
parlor, just to ascertain how hard I could strike it 
without really smashing it ; so like mostly all 
parents in that fair land of foreign-born civic of- 
ficers, my father and mother concluded that as I 
was obnoxious around the home, I should be sent 
to school, in order that while ceasing to pester 
them by my presence, I might also be out of harm’s 
way. GreaCwere the preparations made for this 
most important event, and I looked forward to my 
school career with eagerness and impatience. 

The great day came in due season, and I was 
rigged out from head to foot in newness. Imagine 
how big I felt in a sailor suit with real long 
trousers, having two white stripes down the outer 
seams. Kissing my mother good-bye, I took 
father’s hand and started off afoot for the school. 
We had walked to what to me seemed to be the 
end of the world I had heard of in the fairy tales, 
when we halted before what I thought must be the 
castle of the fairy princess. It was a six-story 
stone structure, and covered quite a deal of terri- 


12 


THE MAKING OF A MILLIONAIRE. 


tory, so that, perhaps, I may be excused for think- 
ing it a castle. Over the principal entrance, in 
front of which we soon stopped, was a signboard 
indicating that the building was the School of the 
Holy Mother of God. 

The porter pushed us into the reception-room 
and went out to search up the principal. 

In one corner of the room and extending from 
the floor to the ceiling, was a huge wooden cross, 
and — how I trembled — a dead man was nailed to 
the cross, with blood pouring from his head, hands, 
feet and a deep cut in his side. I clung with fear 
to my father and hid my head under his coat-tails, 
but he, noticing my agitation with inward chuck- 
ling, feigned to be frightened himself, and not until 
I shivered and shuddered with silent terror, did the 
governor come about and with great difflculty par- 
tially assure me that it was a waxen body only. 
For the very life of me I could not then under- 
stand why people kept such an object there, unless 
it were to frighten the boys when they were 
naughty. 

Around the walls were strewn an army of pic- 
tures, the majority of which were Christs in dif- 
ferent postures, all of them most blood-curdling. 
The remainder of the pictures were of saints or of 
the Holy Mother. Twelve cane-bottomed dining- 
room chairs, a rag carpet and a tall wooden clock 
completed the furniture of this terrible room. 

Brother St. Lazarus, as the principal was styled 
by the porter, soon put in an appearance, and hav_ 
ing conversed with the elder Daniels for some min- 


THE MAKING OF A MILLIONAIRE. 


13 


utes, grabbed me by the shoulder, and telling me 
to say good-bye to my father, shoved me up a cir- 
cular staircase. , Opening a door, we entered into 
what I afterwards learned was the fourth or lowest 
grade class-room. 

This room contained about fifty boys of about 
my own age, and though rather timid before such 
a crowd, I lived through an introduction to the 
teacher and the class. Then a seat at the further 
end of the room was pointed out to me by the 
teacher ; thither I marched and flopped down. 
But oh, how painful is the remembrance. Beads 
of perspiration mounted to my brow. The boys 
around my seat held their sides and stomachs with 
almost insuppressible laughter ; I had sat down on 
a bent pin properly placed for my reception. I 
was too scared to move, but the teacher soon came 
to my relief when he learned how matters stood, 
and with his own hands extracted the cause of my 
misery, all the while slashing the heads of the boys 
in my vicinity. The remainder of the day the boys 
amused me highly by pinching my arms and scrap- 
ing my shins when the teacher’s back was turned, 
for they well knew I was too green to utter a word 
of complaint. 

Every morning at nine sharp the pupils were 
supposed to be in their seats, when Brother Henry 
— for so was the teacher named — would rap on his 
desk. We would instantly spring to our feet, and 
the next rap would see us kneeling on our benches, 
and mighty hard benches they were. In this posi- 
tion we were compelled to repeat after him the 


14 THE MAKING OF A MILLIONAIRE. 

prayers called the Lord’s Prayer, the Hail Mary, 
the Apostles’ Creed, the Hail Holy Queen, and 
make also a few “ signs of the Cross.” Then we 
would seat ourselves and rub our knees. 

Every half hour during school hours a bell 
'would ring, when every scholar must arrest opera- 
tions, bow the head, and say with the others : 
“ The Angel of the Lord declared unto Mary, and 
she conceived of the Holy Ghost. Behold the 
handmaid of the Lord ; be it done unto me ac- 
cording to Thy Word,” ending up with the usual 

Hail Mary, full of grace.” 

Upon each entrance to any room or departure 
therefrom, every boy was expected to dip his right 
hand into a vase of water and make therewith a 
“ sign of the Cross.” From nine o’clock until 
eleven what time was not occupied in praying — 
which was little — was passed in reciting our les- 
sons. At eleven o’clock would begin catechism, 
and for an hour Brother Henry would dwell upon 
the goodness of the pope, and Roman Catholics in 
general, and upon the badness of Protestants in 
particular, as well as pagans incidentally. He 
would tell us how dreadfully good the saints had 
been, and especially St. Trois Etelles de Firmament 
who had founded the order to which Brother Henry 
belonged. Then we would ri.se to our feet, kneel 
again, and go through the same performance as at 
nine o’clock. 

We had an hour for luncheon, but every scholar 
who did not spend from fifteen to forty-five min- 
utes Qf that time silently praying in the school 


THE MAKING OF A MILLIONAIRE. 1 5 

chapel was considered to be hardly better than a 
heretic. 

At one o’clock we would gallop through the 
same prayers that we had undergone at nine o’clock 
and at twelve. At three o’clock would begin an- 
other hour’s talk about the saints, holy water, 
prayers, beads, and so on, the day terminating with 
the same prayers with which it had begun. We 
youngsters used to relish this order of procedure. 
It was much jollier, we used to think, to listen to 
stories about the saints, and so forth, than to be 
compelled to work out some hard problem in arith- 
metic, which would “ be of no use to us, anyway,” 
as we fancied. True, learning to solve problems 
in arithmetic might some day be useful to us in se- 
curing for us our bread and butter, but did not 
Brother Henry tell us that Christ himself had said : 
“ What will it avail a man to gain the whole world 
should he suffer the loss of his own soul ?” 

Another peculiar custom was in vogue in those 
days and is still in force, as far as I know. When- 
ever a pupil came in late he was ordered to kneel 
in the center of the room until the rest had gal- 
loped through their prayers. Then as a punish- 
ment for his tardiness, he must necessarily kiss the 
floor in full view of the whole class. I had gotten 
to ’oe somewhat of a favorite with the teacher, 
when one morning the clock at home went wrong, 
and I arrived in the class-room a few minutes after 
the prayers had begun. Of course I knelt in the 
center of the room with nine other tardy arrivals, 
and when prayers were concluded the command 


6 


THE MAKING OF A MILLIONAIRE. 


was given to kiss the floor. Nine heads went down 
on the instant, my head alone remaining erect and 
motionless. The class was astonished, for my dis- 
obedience was a crime unprecedented. The com- 
mand was repeated three times consecutively, each 
time with additional stress. But the tenth head 
never budged. Brother Henry turned purple ; 
the boys shrank back into their seats. 

The nine others were ordered to their seats, and 
then the brother fairly yelled : “ Philip Daniels, 
are you going to kiss that floor 

Where my sauciness came from I do not know, | 
yet youngster as I was I could not submit to the ! 
indignity, so that I coolly replied : “ Brother 
Henry, I am going to do nothing of the sort.” 

Snatching up a ruler he made a dive at me, but 
as I was possessed of the same unaccountable 
boldness I did not stir an inch. Brother Henry 
almost screamed : “ If you don’t kiss that floor, 
Philip Daniels, I’ll smash every bone in your 
fingers.” 

Actuated by the same audacity which had con- 
trolled my disobedience, I immediately extended 
my hand to be flogged. The brother turned 
purplest, the boys shrank furtherest back into 
their seats. But he did not strike me ; neither 
did I kiss the floor. Returning to his desk he 
ordered me to my bench, saying as he went : 

“ Philip Daniels, heretofore I have always thought 
you to be an angel ; hereafter I must consider you 
a little devil.” 

I think it was that Egyptian gentleman, Mr. 


THE MAKING OF A MILLIONAIRE. 1/ 

Euclid, who tells us there is no royal road to 
learning. I found out at this school that though 
it is true that learning itself is hard to acquire, 
nevertheless towards obtaining the credit for the 
acquirement of learning there is undoubtedly a 
royal path. When the recitations of any class 
were over those who had been successful were 
given a pasteboard check and at the end of each 
month these tickets were given back to the teacher. 
He thus determined our different places on the 
honor-roll by the number of checks we handed in. 
Though I was by no means the brightest scholar 
of the class, the name of Philip Daniels was never 
lower than fourth or fifth on the monthly list of 
honor. How this came about was very simple. 
When I had failed in recitation, which was often, 
and had received no check, I would simply slip a 
cigarette or a few chocolate-drops into the palm of 
one of the poorer boys in the class-room who had 
been successful in passing the recitation, and 
before the day would be an hour older I would be 
richer by one check, so that although 1 never 
again made friendship with the teacher, when I 
had passed through the Holy Mother school I was 
fifth on the list of graduates, and received the fol- 
lowing prizes : A wooden cross with a brass Christ 
nailed on, holy water font, prayer beads, life of 
St. Trois Etelles de Firmament, a Mass-book, a 
brass cross, and a colored lithograph of the Mater 
Purissima. 


i8 


THE MAKING OF A MILLIONAIRE. 


THIRD STRETCH. 

I BECOME AN ANGEL, BUT LEARN I MUST BE 
DAMNED. 

Religious fanaticism controlled my every ac- 
tion during the next four years. Getting through 
the grammar-school I was entered into the Acad- 
emy of Boodleburg, and during the four years I 
attended this institution no revival-meeting crank 
was more ardent than I. The Academy of Boodle- 
burg was under the control of the same religious 
order that conducted the school of the Holy 
Mother. My particular professor was Brother 
Nyle, and he it was he who was responsible for 
my becoming an angel. 

Each morning at five I would rise, and spend 
forty-five to sixty minutes in making the matuti- 
nal prayer, and at seven-thirty o’clock I would be 
found kneeling in a front pew of St. Paul’s Cath- 
edral. A mass, as it was called, was held at that 
time, and would last thirty minutes, after which I 
would repair to the chapel of the academy and 
pray continually ^ntil time for recitation. The 
order of prayer during school hours which I have 
described in a previous chapter was in vogue 
throughout my term in the academy also. 

At four o’clock when the classes were dismissed 
I would drop into the church and pray a little 


THE MAKING OF A MILLIONAIRE. 


9 


while, after which I would go home, have some- 
thing to eat, and return to the church to spend 
another hour in solitary prayer. By this time it 
behoved me to retire to slumber. I would hie 
me home, undress, pray for another thirty or forty 
minutes, then lie down in bed, and dream I was an 
angel. 

It might be wondered by the “gentle reader” 
what it was I was praying about so very seriously. 
Well, I had been made to believe by Brother 
Nyle that this is a terribly bad world, and that for 
less than a row of pins God would “ send down fire 
from heaven,” to destroy the whole earth. He was 
so exasperated with the wickedness of the people 
living on it. I was given to understand it was my 
bounden duty to keep God’s attention occupied 
with my prayers in order that He would forget to 
destroy the world. 

To make my first communion I was soon de- 
clared to be old enough and sufficiently learned. 
Accordingly for three whole weeks in company 
with about seventy-five other youngsters I sat down 
and from morning till night pondered over a book 
which told how awfully bad everybody was who 
was other than Roman Catholic ; how good the 
pope was ; how to confess my sins ; how I would 
certainly go to hell when I should die if I did not 
go to mass on Sunday and particularly if I did not 
contribute to the support of the parish priest and 
abstain from eating meat on Fridays. 

June 28, 18 hundred and blanketty dash, was the 
date fi^ed for the ceremony of making my first 


20 


THE MAKING OF A MILLIONAIRE. 


communion. Not one word of conversation upon 
any subject whatever were the candidates allowed 
to say to anybody but their director and the priest 
for the three whole days and nights previous to 
the performance. All this time they reflected over 
their past lives and resolved they had been dread- 
fully wicked sinners. 

Counting up the number of sins I had ever com- 
mitted previously— or imagined I had committed 
after my reading over a long list of possible sins 
which I did not at that time fully understand — I 
entered the much talked-of and as much mis- 
represented confessional-box for the first time, 
the day previous to that upon which we were to 
communicate. 

As professional ex-priests have caused people a 
misconception of this commendable feature of the 
Roman Catholic church, I feel called upon to give 
an unbiassed, unprejudiced description of this 
sacrament. 

Jesus said to his apostles : “ Whose sins you 
shall loose, they shall be loosed ; and whose sins 
you shall retain, they shall be retained.” Priests 
believe themselves successors of the apostles, and 
to have the Jesus-given powers of the apostles 
transmitted to them through the pope. 

If they are to forgive some sins, and retain 
others, they argue, they must hear from the con- 
fessor what the sins are, in order to judge what 
sins are to be forgiven, and which to be retained 
for a while. 

The confessional-box is a six-sided affair with 


THE MAKING OF A MILLIONAIRE. 


21 


the front side left off and heavy curtains put on 
instead. This box contains three distinct com- 
partments which are entered only by the front, 
and in view of the whole churchful of people. 
The priest occupies the center compartment, a 
confessor kneels in each of the others. It is im- 
possible for the priest to recognize the confessor, 
except sometimes by the sound of voice, as the 
only means of communication is by several small 
holes, through which, generally, a match could not 
be forced. The assertion that Roman Catholics 
pass money to the priests through the grating, to 
buy forgiveness of their sins, is at once an infam- 
ous lie, and an utter impossibility. Sometimes the 
holes are larger than I have mentioned, but never 
more than a trifle. 

As a confessor enters the stall to kneel, his feet 
only are viewable to the people in the church ; the 
remainder of the body is concealed by the curtain. 
He sees and hears nothing as the priest is confess- 
ing some person in the opposite stall, and meanwhile 
this grating is closed and the other one opened. 

Tremblingly I entered into the box and knelt 
down. How my teeth chattered. It was new to 
me, so I was much frightened. Soon my grating 
opened and I began : “ In the name of the Father, 
and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost, amen. I 
confess to Almighty God and to you, father.” 

“ Yes, child.” 

Father, I accuse myself of having said ‘ God 
damn,’ about four times a week, of missing mass 
once, of disobeying my parents pretty often, of 


22 


THE MAKING OF A MILLIONAIRE. 


stealing a slate-pencil, of telling half a dozen lies, 
of going with bad boys, of eating meat on Friday. 
For all of which sins I am heartily sorry, I most 
humbly ask pardon of God, penance and absolu- 
tion of you, my ghostly father.” 

“ My dear child, it is naughty to say bad words. 
God will not love you, and your mamma would 
not like to hear it. Try not to miss mass, be care- 
ful to obey your parents, return that slate- 
pencil, keep from the company of bad boys, stick 
to the truth, and remember that our precious 
Saviour died on a Friday, and you should not eat 
meat on that day. Are you not resolved to do 
better in the future, my child ?” 

“Yes, father, I am. I will do my best to be a 
better boy.” 

“Well, then, my child, God forgives a contrite 
heart, so go in peace and make your communion 
to-morrow.” 

The grate closed and I felt much happier. A 
load seemed taken off my shoulders. I slumbered 
that night feeling much better for having con- 
fessed my sins, and for the advice given me, and 
at the present writing, agnostic though I am, I will 
frankly admit that the most satisfied and con- 
tented moments of my life have been those follow- 
ing a straightforward confession. 

At 4 A. M. next day I was up and making pre- 
parations for what I had been taught to think 
would be the greatest event of my life. Mother 
soon showed herself. She put on me the first 
boiled shirt I had ever possessed ; next a pair of 


THE MAKING OF A MILLIONAIRE. 


23 

white cotton stockings ; then black knee-breeches ; 
patent leather slippers, with silver buckles ; fifth, a 
real starched stand-up collar, the first I had ever 
worn, with a white cravat ; afterwards a black coat, 
vest, and derby hat. Around my neck was hung a 
white silk ribbon two inches wide, supporting a 
brass medal of the Holy Virgin, which reached to 
the second button upon my vest. 

Over this was placed a copper chain to which 
was attached a brass medal of Christ, with a heart 
_in his hand, around which was a wreath of thorns. 
This ornament reached to my chest.- On top of 
these two was placed a pair of scapulars or Agnus 
Dei, consisting of two pieces of stamped cloth, 
each about two by three inches in size, tied to- 
gether with two strings, to keep them around the 
neck. One of these pieces of cloth reached six 
inches down my back, and the other as many 
inches in front. Brother Nyle told us these would 
float on the surface of any water into which we 
had fallen and buoy up the head, keeping any per- 
son from drowning. (I jumped into the water of 
the Ottawa river one day afterward with nothing 
on but these scapulars. I did not know how to 
swim and my head of course went down. The 
water was not deep here so I did not drown, but I 
suppose the buoying up power of the scapulars 
shows itself only when the person’s life is in actual 
danger). A badge with gold fringe, and with the 
cloth shape of a lieart sewed on, was pinned to my 
coat. Around my left arm, was tied a four inch 
white silk ribbon, which reached almost to the 


24 the making of a milltonatre. 

ground. In my left hand I carried a mass book, 
and in my right ditto a string of prayer beads. 
Then I was attired in the complete uniform of a 
first communicant. 

A hundred or so boys attired like myself, were 
soon assembled in the cathedral of St. Peter. 
After a few dozen standing-ups, ind kneelings, 
with as many genuflections, signs of the cross and 
mumblings of prayers, we all walked slowly up to 
the altar rail where we were given a particle of 
bread, shaped like a silver dollar. This was called 
receiving communion. Another large number of 
sitting-downs, genuflections, signs of the cross, etc., 
followed; then a frightfully long sermon ; the per- 
formance winding up with more signs of the cross, 
genuflections, kneeling, etc., after which we were 
dismissed for an hour to get breakfast ; for we 
were not allowed to eat anything since the previ- 
ous midnight. 

The remainder of the day was passed in calling 
on friends to receive their congratulations in 
amounts varying from ten cents to a dollar. With 
this money the boys generally bought fire-cracks 
ers and toy revolvers, to endeavor to singe their 
eye-lashes, burn their clothing, or blister their 
hands and faces with explosions of powder, in 
order that they might have cause to remember 
that day of days, when they made their first com- 
munion 

The order of religious teachers of which Brother 
Nyle was a member was undoubtedly a good one 
in some ways. In the year sixteen hundred and 


THE MAKING OE A MILLIONAIRE. 2 ^ 

something, Trois Etelles de Firmament, a French 
priest residing at Rouen, felt his heart bleed to see 
so many children growing to manhood without 
knowledge of God or their alphabet. He got 
some of his associates together and they swore 
eternal obedience, poverty and chastity. They 
opened schools, took in children of the poor, and 
taught them for next to nothing. At the present 
moment, the membership of the brotherhood and 
the number of its schools are uncountable, and 
they exist in all countries. 

But they instruct children to pray more than to 
do anything else. Their notion of life is : “ What 

will it avail a man to gain the whole world if he 
suffer the loss of his own soul ?” They teach 
children how to die ; not, as I think they should 
be taught, how to live. 

Imagine an able-bodied man who is pointed out 
as a man learned in science and in art, telling a 
roomful of boys : “ If you wish to obtain anything 

from God write a letter to any one of the saints ; 
enclose the h.tter in an envelope, and put it under 
or near the statue of such saint in the academic 
chapel. In due time the letter will reach heaven 
and your prayer will be answered.” 

Brother Nyle made such a statement to the class 
to which I belonged. Not only that, but he sol- 
emnly declared that he had himself written a letter 
in that way and had received a favorable response. 

I tri' d the scheme but it failed to work. Among 
the things I asked St. Joseph to do for me was to 
cause a certain blue-eyed Sibyl to love me. Some 


26 


THE MAKING OE A MILLIONAIRE. 


of the boys of my class stole the letter from the 
saint before he had time to take it away, and the 
same day when the professor was absent from the 
room they read my letter in open class, much to 
my humiliation and dismay. 

Among the saints discoursed about by Brother 
Nyle was one named St. Aloysius. This fellow 
would walk long distances in the snow and ice on a 
freezing cold day, get his feet, hands and ears 
frozen purposely that his consequent suffering 
might in some way appease God’s anger with the 
world and thus save it from destruction at his 
hands. Another individual would take the short 
hairs out of a stiff hair door-mat, and put them 
down his back between his shirt and skin in order 
that he might suffer for his sins, and instead of 
going to hell or purgatory when he died would for 
this cause be taken up directly to heaven. Still 
another fellow used to beat his bare back with a 
cat’-o’-nine-tails till the blood came in order that 
he might assist in lessening the wrath of God 
against the world. 

One day Nyle lent me a pig-skin belt, from the 
inner side of which three hundred tacks projected 
about a quarter of an inch. This he requested me 
to tie round my waist, next to my skin. When I re- 
tired that night I conformed to his wish, and the 
next morning three hundred blood marks were visi- 
ble. Yet the belt was nowhere to be seen. I 
thought the angels had taken it to God, who after 
my death would remember me for wearing it before 
I died. 


THE MAKING OF A MILLIONAIRE. 


27 


Years afterwards, I learned that the governor, 
hearing me moan painfully in my sleep, had come 
to my room. Upon investigating he found the belt, 
which he unceremoniously threw into the fire. 

To beat my back with a cat-o’-nine-tails, was the 
next thing my sensible professor persuaded me to 
do for the sake of this dreadful, sinful world. Pro- 
curing from him an instrument of torture, I went 
to my room and took off my clothes to my very 
undershirt, and commenced lashing my back with 
all my might. A scream in the hallway outside my 
room soon interrupted my operations. Mother 
had swooned. I had forgotten to close the door, 
and as she passed by she glanced in. My occu- 
pation would have caused any sane person to 
faint 

One day I remember well a Jesuit visited the 
academy and all the other Roman Catholic schools 
in the city. He was well supplied with pasteboard 
cards, worded in this fashion : 

COLONIZATION SOCIETY. 

To aid in building churches among the poor 
Indian pagans, for each ten cents paid for such 
glorious cause more than five thousand masses will 
daily be said for the suffering souls in purgatory of 
such persons as have the names written below : 

1 2 


3 - 4 



10 


2S THE MAKING OF A MILLIONAIRE. 


Note: For each ten cent piece you give, write 
in one blank space the name of some departed re- 
lative who you think may be suffering torments in 
purgatory. Such soul cannot long remain in such 
place when so many masses are daily said for them 
by such a saintly organization as the Jesuits. 
When these suffering souls get to heaven, they will 
pray for you for giving ten cents to get them out 
of such a dreadful place. 

These cards were distributed among the students, 
and for each card upon which they got ten names 
or one dollar, they could have a free lot of masses 
and a leaden medal, oval-shaped, and with the pic- 
ture of a church on one side and the image of a 
crucifix for its obverse. 

How happy was I in the possession of seven 
medals ; for I had sold seven cardfuls myself. Im- 
agine my joy to learn that thirty-five thousand 
masses would be said daily for my especial benefit. 
I could now miss mass when I wanted to go to the 
woods for nuts on Sunday, and as so many masses 
were being said for me, the Lord would not mind 
my eating meat on Friday once in a while, 
or my saying “ God damn ” occasionally, or 
my stealing a whole pot of jam out of my mother’s 
cupboard 

God had chosen me to be a brother of St. Trois 
Etelles de Firmament, according to Brother Nyle ; 
and as God had called me to be such it was my 
vocation. If I did not become a brother, I was in 
imminent peril of eternal damnation. Besides did 
St. Augustine not say : “ It is harder for a man to live 


THE MAKING OF A MILLIONAIRE. 


29 


outside his vocation, than for a fish to live on dry- 
land.” 

Not wishing to be burned everlastingly, I pes- 
tered the governor to let me join the brotherhood, 
but his only response was a cold, sarcastic smile, 
each time I asked him. Not meeting with any 
success, I asked Brother Nyle to speak to him. 
With this request he readily complied, but after an 
exhortation lasting an hour, father replied simply, 
“ No, he cannot go.” Yet Nyle did not give up. 
He implored my father to see the danger in which 
he (my father) was placing me, by keeping me away 
from my vocation, concluding : “ Think how glori- 
ous it would be to have your son a man of God, 
whereas if he does not hearken unto the voice of 
the Almighty and become a brother, he insures for 
himself eternal damnation.” 

With an air of great weariness the governor 
curtly replied : “ I am afraid, sir, he will have to be 
damned.” 


30 


THE MAKING OF A MILLIONAIRE. 


CHAPTER IV. 

I BECOME A DEVIL, AND AM PUT IN CHARGE OF 
HELL. 

“ Good mornin’, sonny, hev yer used Pears 
soap ?” was the salutation discharged at my head 
by a gruff old man, on the morning succeeding the 
day on which my father had engaged me to enter 
into the employ of the “Journal Printing Com- 
pany.” 

It was the fad in Canada for the sons of civil 
servants and other aristocrats, to be kept at school 
until they should reach fourteen or fifteen years of 
age, then be apprenticed to some trade ; after 
which they were generally sent to college to pre- 
pare for some profession. Accordingly, graduat- 
ing from the Academy of Boodleburg with highest 
honors, and receiving as graduation . prize a “ Life 
of the Saints,” I became a devil. 

It was the first morning after my entrance into 
the printing office, that I was saluted by the gruff 
old gentleman, with the soapy question. Every 
morning afterwards, until I left the establishment, 
he gave me the same greeting. 

Lost in a forest of cylinder presses, Gordons, 
cutting machines, double feeders, folders, ruling 
machines, etc., for about six months, I swept out 


THE MAKING OF A MILLIONAIRE. 31 

the establishment ; plunged my arms up to the 
shoulders into barrels of that muddy stuff called 
printer’s ink ; washed off forms, made rollers, and 
cleaned from two to three different colors from the 
discs of presses from which circus posters of many 
hues had been struck off. 

Anybody who knows aught about a printing 
shop is aware what dirty 
work is the afore men- 
tioned. For a time, how- 
ever, while the novelty 
lasted, I enjoyed it. But 
one day I came to this, 
worse than a coal mine, 
clad in my best apparel ; 
white shirt, collar and tie, 
and. linen cuffs. Imagine 
the yell of laughter that 
greeted my appearance 
that morning. Even the 
gruff old fellow sang out, 

“ My, my, sonny, but yah 
hev used Pears Soap.” 

That day seemed to me to be the busiest one of 
the year. Nearly every press needed to be washed, 
new sets of rollers made, and the double-feeders 
to be oiled inside and out. Occasionally during 
the day, a man with an ink-roller in his hand would 
knock against me, by the merest accident, so that 
by the time the six o’clock whistle blew both cloth- 
ing and boy had the same aspect as they would 
have if they had been rolling in the unpaved road- 



32 


THE MAKING OF A MILLIONAIRE. 


way cifter a heavy rainstorm. To add to my 
amtrsment, the men began calling me the “ steam- 
barge waiter so, soon after this, the press-room 
beca*pe too hot for my haughty blood, and I re- 
signed 

The incident responsible for my coming to the 
office attired in such inappropriate garments was 
responsible likewise for a great many important 
actions in my after-life. Ah, Sybil, to what ecstatic 
realms did visions of thy lovely face transport 
me. And even^now, after a lapse of nearly fifty 
years, '•how the 'memory of thy peachy cheek, and 
C0.0I black, languid eyes sends my soul to ramble 
in realms of joy. 

Every one in Boodleburgknew of Warren Yessex. 
Ij[^e was electric magnate and lumber prince, and 
one of the very few millionaires of which Canada 
has been the mother. Yessex was a widower with 
one child, sixteen years old, when I became a 
devil. 

Two or three summers before that, when I was a 
fifteen-year old student at the Boodlcburg acad- 
emy, I was roving about MacKay’s woods, an ex- 
tensive natural park some miles from the city, and 
for pure amusement’s sake had clambered , up 
a large birch tree which among a hundred others 
stood near a large and beautiful sheet of water, 
called after the owner of the park. Every one was 
welcome to use the park at all times, and indeed it 
would have required a battalion of soldiers to keep 
the people out, so extensive were the grounds. 
There were a number of small springs which oozed 


THE MAKING OF A MILLIONAIRE. 


33 


from the clay on the verge of this lake, and it was 
just over one of these springs that I had climbed 
the birch. On the near-by country road, a car- 
riage would now and then rumble or a saddle-horse 
gallop by, and on the surface of the lake swans 
and ducks were skimming lightly about, seemingly 
propelled by some power from beneath. It was 
an intensely hot afternoon in August, but my 
perch in the shaded tree was as cool as Greenland. 

Absorbed in thought I mechanically pulled out 
my jack-knife and began whittling off a sheet of 
bark from the tree in which I sat, and uncon- 
sciously commenced to shape it into one of those 
birch-bark drinking cups I had often made be- 
fore. 

I had scarcely finished my cup and closed my 
jack-knife when I heard among the trees the crack- 
ing of twigs. Turning around upon my seat I saw 
coming towards the lake the nearest approach to 
the reality of an angel, that I have ever since, or 
before, had the pleasure to behold. 

A rosy-cheeked girl of about thirteen, her coal- 
black hair plaited down her back, her lips apart in 
eager anticipation of a cooling drink, her white 
muslin dre.ss, which with white-gloved hands she 
dexterously kept from catching in the bushes, her 
white stockings, black shoes and pale blue sash 
and umbrella, have ever since been in my heart an 
indelible picture of joy and beauty. 

She came directly to the spring, and my heart 
leaped as I heard a little cry escape her — for to 
reach the water it was necessary to immerse one’s 


34 the making of a millionaire. 

shoes to the ankles in sticky blue mud. She had 
turned her back on the spring, and was on the 
way back to her carriage on the roadway, when 
down I slipped from my lofty perch and cried 
out : 

“ Here, Miss, don’t you want to drink 

She asked my name, she told me hers, but I 
never dreamed her to be the daughter of million- 
aire Yessex. 

“ Sybil Yessex,” she said was her name, and 
then she drove away in her carriage. 

More than a year had passed before I again saw 
the divinity that had come into my life. She was 
driving with an elderly lady along the Broadway of 
Boodleburg. I recognized her at a glance, but 
did not dare to bow. As for Miss Yessex she did 
seem to look my way. But before the night had 
passed, I had learned her identity and the name 
of the church and hour of service at which she 
was attendant. 

I had always attended low Mass before that be- 
cause of its shortness, but my discovery induced 
me to attend high Mass thereafter, and that, too, 
although it was one and a half times as long. Sir 
John Alexander owned a pew in the same centre 
aisle as Warren Yessex did, and being my moth- 
er’s cousin. Sir John readily allowed me to sit in 
his pew at high Mass, to which he himself never 
came — preferring as most brainy Roman Catholics 
that I have known do, to get through a disagree- 
able task as soon as possible, by going to the 
shorter and earlier service. 


THE MAKING OF A MILLIONAIRE. 


35 


Many, many months after that I saw Sybil and 
her father every Sunday, and while she would be 
devoutly wrapped in her prayer book, I would de- 
vour every curve of her spotless neck, and every 
fold of her beautiful garment. Often she would 
happen to look in my direction, but never once 
did I dare to look her full in the face — the altar 
boys would then engage my attention. 

(Do you know I am now convinced that she was 
just as anxious to speak to me, as I was to speak 
to her ?) 

But “ every dog has his day,” and I was always 
on the look-out to get my innings, and one Sun- 
day morning when Sybil and her father left church 
as usual, I perceived that he had left his gold- 
rimmed glasses on the little incline in his pew. I 
waited until they had gone quite up the street, and 
then picked up the glasses, with tumults in my in- 
sides, and ran up the street in the direction they 
had taken. I touched Mr. Yessex upon the arm 
politely, and gave him the glasses he had left 
behind. 

He was reputed to be a man of but few words, 
and as he had never known anything about me, he 
simply thanked me, and started on. But suddenly 
Sybil halted him and exclaimed : 

“ Why, papa, it’s Philip Daniels, cousin of Sir 
John, you remember. He’s the boy who got me 
the water when the mud kept me away last sum- 
mer. You remember, I told you all about it.” 

“Oh, yes indeed,” returned Yessex, with a visi- 
ble effort to remember something he had forgotten 


36 THE MAKING OF A MILLIONAIRE. 

all about, “ glad to meet you, young man.” Then 
I left them to wend the even tenor of their way. 

I could barely contain myself with astonish- 
ment to learn that Sybil not only remembered me, 
but also knew my relationship to Sir John. Evi- 
dently she had been interested in me. 

This is what gave my head such a swelled feeling, 
and it was that that caused me to come to the 
printing office next day dressed in the apparel of 
a civil service dandy 

The composing room of the Free Press was my 
next appointment. Coming earlier than the rest, 
every morning I swept out the room and picked 
up the types that had fallen upon the floor on the 
preceding day. Throughout the day I would run 
between the editor’s sanctum sanctorum and the 
composing room, with copy and proofs ; print 
proofs and duplicates at the end of the day, and 
cut the “ dupes ” and serve them out to the com- 
positors. This is called the work of the devil, 
hence when the foreman wanted me he would cry 
out, “ Say, little devil, come over here, will you ?” 

The box where broken types, old leads, and 
other odds and ends of the composing room were 
thrown is called “ Hell,” and according to the 
eternal fitness of things is given in charge of the 
devil, whose duty it is to see that no good material 
or “ pi ” is deposited therein by typesetters too 
lazy to put it back into its proper place. This 
printing office was quite an interesting place. 
Compositors entering in the morning would be 
smoking some strong-smelling pipe or rank cigar, 


THE MAKING OF A MILLIONAIRE. 37 

after finishing which they would pull out a huge 
plug of chewing tobacco, bite off a piece and offer 
me some. Of course I would refuse. 

“ Say, you kid, you will never be a decent printer 
’less yer learn to chaw.” For weeks I desisted, 
but the urgement was so strong, that at last I took 
a big quid. The remainder of the day I passed in 
the garret of the Free Press office, vomiting and 
moaning most piteously. But I was plucky. I 
took another quid, bigger than the former one, the 
next day. By degrees I arrived at such a stage of 
manliness, that I did chew a plug of tobacco each 
day. Later on I could smoke the strongest pipe, 
and swear harder than any blackguard who fre- 
quented the composing room. 

Fortunately for me I did not remain much 
longer in that office, for the next elections put into 
power the party to which my father belonged. At 
his direction I wrote a letter to the superintendent 
of government printing, applying for a position in 
his department. This was the first step to be taken 
in order to obtain employment from the govern- 
ment of that time. Next the applicant must inter- 
view a half dozen members of the Parliament, who 
in consideration of his promises of support at all 
the elections w'ould consent to write a letter to the 
superintendent, endorsing the application, and as 
this official relied upon the good-will of these dig- 
nitaries for his holding of office, he never refused 
an application bearing their endorsement. Conse- 
quently this department had on its pay-roll more 
than five times the number of hands really required 


38 THE MAKING OF A MILLIONAIRE. 


to do the work allotted to it. No educational 
qualification was requisite. Provided a person 
could get sufficient political endorsement, he would 
receive appointment. I have seen Quebeckers who 
did not know a single word of English put to work 
composing manuscript written in the English lan- 
guage. The result was that three times more 
time would be occupied in correcting the proofs 
than if the manuscript had been given to proper 
persons in the first place. Nevertheless, as that 
correcting gave employment to many more men, 
and consequently insured as many more votes, that 
order of proceeding is still current. 

All employees of this department received large 
wages, but their chief occupation was reading 
novels, the magazines, and the newspapers, so that 
I was perfectly happy in that place. One day I 
said to myself, “ Perhaps some day when I have 
become famous, and have come into possession of 
wealth, I may look back at the present time and 
envy myself this unconceived pleasure of life.” 
And more than once in my later life have I coveted 
the peace of mind that I enjoyed in that epoch of 
my career. 

Novel reading for which I had ample oppor- 
tunity, together with my determination to some 
day be worthy socially and mentally to ask Sybil 
to marry me, soon imbued me with ambitious 
notions. I reviewed my academic studies during 
working hours, and came to think I had but to 
exert myself a little to have all the world at my 
feet. It was here that were, hatched many im- 


THE MAKING OF A MILLIONAIRE. 


39 


portant schemes, which, slightly modified, I have 
put into operation since I have held the helm of 
state. 

A cotton apron was worn by all the employes 
of this department to prevent the soiling of their 
fashionable garments, which they wore to the 
office. I wore one of these affairs, and one day it 
occurred to me that an apron was symbolic of 
manual labor. I was walking down the stairs at 
the moment, and so great was my indignation to 
have it brought to my teeth that I wore the 
emblem of such a contemptible thing as labor that 
I lost my balance and fell down to the bottom 
step. I was picked up by four of the employes, 
and brought into an anteroom in what they 
thought was an unconscious state. But they had 
bad thoughts. I was absorbed in turning over and 
over in my mind, words which were printed the 
same day : 

APOSTROPHE. 

Dear old cotton apron, dirty and torn, 

Many long weary days thee have I worn, 

Thou hast been the protector from ink and from dust 
Of my clothes ; yet doff thee forever I must. 

For the non- mature bell. 

Of ambition doth knell. 

And thus to me tell : 

Cease thou, the work of a slave ! 


40 


THE MAKING OF A MILLIONAIRE. 


FIFTH INSTALLMENT. 

I FALL IN LOVE IN EARNEST. 

My apprenticeship having expired, I was sent to 
Kings City, where I entered the university. 

Of the four classes in this institute, the eldest 
was called the senior ; the next oldest the junior ; 
the third in age the sophomore ; and the youngest 
the freshmen. Between the first two and the last 
two there existed little or no rivalry ; but between 
the seniors and the juniors ; and between the 
sophomores and the freshmen, respectively, class 
feeling was intense, especially in the latter case, 
and while the seniors abetted the sophomores, the 
juniors asisted the freshmen in their many feuds 
with the class whose age was one year less than 
their own. 

As we freshmen were filing out from chapel on 
the first morning of the college session, we were 
amazed to find all egress from the corridor blocked 
up by the seniors and the sophomores, who to the 
number of about four hundred had arranged 
themselves along the four walls into a hollow 
square. The only break in this was the chapel 
door through which we were pushing our way, 
followed by the juniors and the dignified faculties 
of the several departments of the university. Our 


the Making of a millionatrf:. 


41 


astonishment lasted but a short time, however, for 
hardly had the last member of our class passed 
from the chapel, when the ranks of the sophomores 
closed up suddenly with a deafening yell. This 
was followed up with a shower of paper bags filled 
with red pepper, and discharged at the mouths, 
noses and foreheads of us poor penned-up freshies. 
Such of these missiles as had not burst in the 
throwing were caught and thrown back by those 
of us who had the presence of mind to do so, and 
when these failed we came to blows and kicks. 
Of the latter the ► freshmen received a large 
majority, because having but a few hours’ acquaint- 
ance with one another we did not know friend 
from foe in such an unexpected row. Vehement 
sneezings, yells of pain, cries of murder, roars of 
laughter, curses, tearings of clothing, kicks and 
scratchings of faces, were the order of the next 
fifteen minutes, and goodness knows how the 
matter might have ended had not some sober pro- 
fessor cried out : 

Fire ! fire ! the chapel is on fire ! Escape for 
your lives !” 

This insult the freshmen were not in a hurry to 
overlook and the unanimous conscension of the 
class was for immediate retaliation. Accordingly 
our class, some evenings later, accepted the invita- 
tion of the seniors to meet them in a hall in the 
city, where they were to impart to us some plans 
for obtaining vengeance upon the heads of the 
sophomores, as well as for outwitting their schemes 
against us in the future. 


42 


THt: MAKING OF A MILLIONAIRE. 


Of the many projects for requital suggested, 
that one was agreed upon, where the seniors were 
to invite the sophomores to a full-dress ball, and 
when these fellows had assembled in the dancing 
hall they were to be called apart from the ladies. 
At this stage the freshies were to spring from their 
places of concealment, and amid the shoutings of 
the class yell were to belay the sophs with small 
paper bags filled with a flour through which some 
obnoxious perfume had been freely sprinkled. This, 
it was anticipated, would bean enjoyable repayment 
for the red pepper affair, as the sophomores would 
be compelled to then leave their lady friends at the 
mercy of the freshmen. 

Many more dark plots were designed that night, 
all of such promising nature that when the meeting 
was adjourned every face 
wore a broad smile, and 
each eye had a knowing 
look. 

The freshmen had formed 
a column of four abreast, 
in front of the hall prepara- 
tory to marching through 
the town in this order, and 
the signal to start was about 
to be given. With the sud- 
denness of lightning, more 
than a score of fresh water 
streams were turned on us, 
each with a full ten pound 
pressure. In a trice all of us were soaking 



the: making ok a millionaire. 43 

wet. Nor was this all. From the starlit heavens, 
apparently, but in reality from the hands of the 
sophomores there rained upon us a perfect ocean 
of odorized flour, such as we had designed to ad- 
minister to the sophs at the coming fancy ball. 
We had been entrapped by the allies of our natural 
enemies. 

During the first fourteen days of my college life 
I had lived with a private family near the univer- 
sity, and in all of those days I had eaten but one 
luncheon and one dinner at that house ; both of 
these on the day of my arrival at Kings City. It 
was the season during which the new students are 
“rushed” for the Greek-letter fraternities. Beingof 
good family not a day passed that I was not com- 
pelled to refuse as many as a half-dozen invitations 
to lunch or to dine at some one of the chapter- 
houses of those secret societies, or to accompany 
some of their members to concerts, operas, and at 
homes. Prodigal son treatment was accorded me 
on every hand, until the other societies learned 
that I had pledged myself to join Delta Kappa 
Epsilon. Then I was recognized no longer by 
members of rival clubs. Young men who in pre- 
vious fits of good-naturedness had sworn life-long 
goodfellowship and brotherly love to me, now 
passed me by on the streets or in the class-room 
without the smallest indication of acquaintanceship, 
while members of the D. K. E. itself, now that I 
had been pledged, exhibited not the smallest con- 
cern in my existence, that is, beyond informing me 


44 


The making ok a millionaire. 


what my fees and dues would be, and when they 
were payable. 

Upon what diet the initiating goat had been fed 
I must not say further than that two men on their 
way to work, at five o’clock in the morning, found 
me bound to a grave-stone, blindfolded, dirty, 
bleeding, my clothing in rags, but no bones 
broken. 

The law of custom in the university of Kings City 
stipulated that members of only that one of the 
two junior classes which had been successful in the 
scramble for the cane at the beginning of the ses- 
sion should be allowed to wear a walking stick dur- 
ing the balance of the college year. Accordingly 
the interest of the sophomores and freshmen in this 
contest, or cane-rush as it was termed, was unani- 
mous and great as the appointed hour arrived. 
The nine hundred students with friends or rela- 
tives and half the inhabitants of Kings City had 
assembled on the campus, when the sophomore 
gentlemen lined up on the northern end of the 
large square chalked out on the football grounds. 
At the south end of the field we freshmen had not 
yet appeared, but the umpire and referee stood by 
watch in hand, while a stout baseball bat quietly 
reposed in the centre of the square utterly uncon- 
scious of the rough handling it was about to un- 
dergo. 

The hour designated by the judges was ten min- 
utes old, and not a single freshman had put in an 
appearance, when it began to be whispered that 
the freshmen were too frightened to come to the 


THE MAKING OF A MILLIONAIRE. 


45 


trial of agility. It was agreed nevertheless to give 
them five minutes longer. Before this period had 
elapsed a yell from the basement of the gymnasium 
assured the crowd of spectators that the freshmen 
were not cowards, and presently a line of ninety- 
seven fellows stepped into view, each with his arms 
extended directly before him where his hands 
rested on either shoulder of his leader. Every one 
of them was attired in his oldest and scantiest 
clothing, and around each neck was tied a white 
handkerchief. On their foreheads and on each 
cheek were pasted small pieces of black court 
plaster cut in the shape of a diamond, and around 
each right leg was tied a yellow cotton band. This 
uniform was designed to enable the freshmen to 
distinguish one another from the sophomores when 
the general scramble began. 

A shout of applause from the onlookers greeted 
the coming of the freshmen, and we returned the 
compliment by prolonged screamings of the class 
yell : 


Waxey Go Wax ! 

Waxey Go Weven ! 

Eighteen hundred, 

And Blankety-seven ! 

Both sides soon drew up at opposite ends of the 
campus and the signal was given to start. Two 
hundred ymung gentlemen were scrambling, crying, 
tripping, laughing, running, jumping, falling, or 
hugging each other for all they were worth in less 
than two minutes. Four nimble-footed freshies 


46 THE MAKING OF A MILLIONAIRE. 


and two swift running sophs had pounced upon the 
bat at the same instant, and the next second saw 
them buried under an avalanche of human bodies, 
kicking and yelling like very demons. Soon by 
means of pulling, rolling, and tossing the pile was 
lessened so that a glimpse could be caught of the 
object of the struggle. 

Two big freshmen jump on one of the sophs who 
cling to the bat, and bear him to the ground, while 
another sophomore springs into his place. A half 
dozen of his friends throw themselves on the f resh- 
ies and bury them under their own bodies, while 
others rush for the vacant places. All this time 
each combatant is doing his best to keep at least 
one enemy from the principal part of the fight, and 
as this is no easy matter they wrestle each other, 
tear each others* clothing, and roll together in the 
mud, or the one having placed his antagonist hors 
de combat and having made a spurt for the posi- 
tion of the bat, he is thrown to the ground by a 
check from a bigger man. Now three freshies and 
as many sophs cling to the bat for dear life, and 
dozens of their enemies tug at their legs, jump on 
their heads and shoulders or encircling their necks 
with their arms try to trip them backwards and 
into the mud. 

Now the bat is being shoved to the north end of 
the campus, where a barbed wire fence threatens to 
tear the bodies of such of the excited contestants 
as venture in its vicinity. At this juncture seven 
stalwart fellows, all of them sophomores, lower 
their heads, goat fashion, and making for the bat 


THE MAKING OF A MILLIONAIRE. 


47 


with shouts and kicks and wild gesticulations, 
force against the barbs the dingers to the stick, 
who loose their holds with a yell of pain. The 
battle is over, for with a cry these stout athletes, 
who had been wisely kept in reserve by the ex- 
perienced sophomores, throw off the injured strug- 
glers, and grasping the bat hold it aloft untouched 
by any freshman. The referee calls time, and the 
sophomores alone shall carry walking-sticks the re- 
mainder of the year. 

With heads drooping on our breasts, we defeated 
freshies slink away unnoticed, while the 'victorious 
sophomores forming themselves into a column, lay 
hold of their class-leader, an American named 
Dombey, who had distinguished himself in the 
play, and carry him off on their shoulders across 
the campus in the direction of the main building. 
Though covered with blood, bruises and mud from 
head to foot, these fellows are all as jolly as a 
young father at the birth of his first son, and away 
they march shouting and singing at the top of 
their voices their song of victory : 

We are the stuff ; we are the stuff ; 

We hear the people sa)^ ! 

We are the stuff ; we are the stuff ; 

We hear the people say ! 

'Who are the stuff ? 

We are ! 

Who are we ? 

Rickety Ro ! 

Rixety Rix ! 

Kings City, Kings City, 

Blanket/ six 1 1 


48 


THE MAKING OF A MILLIONAIRE. 


What’s the matter with Dombey ? 

He’s all right, 

Who’s all right ? 

D-O-M-B-E-Y, Rah ! Rah ! ! Rah ! ! ! 

Mary had a little lamb, 

Whose fleece was white as snow. 

Everywhere that Mary went. 

The lamb was sure to go. 

It followed her to school one day ; 

This was against the rule. 

As we go marching through Georgia. 

Hurrah for Mary ! 

Hurrah for the lamb ! 

Hurrah for the people. 

Who did not give a 

Rickety Ro ! 

Rixety Rix ! ! 

Kings City, Kings City, 

Blankety six ! ! ! 

With many repetitions of this song and many 
loud shoutings of the yell, the conquerors reach 
the basement of the mam hall, where pouncing 
upon the venerable old janitor, they relieve him of 
the keys to the tower. Then with wild cheerings 
and screamings of the class yell, the crowd scram- 
bles up the narrow staircase leading to the upper 
regions. Here the excitement is so wild the pro- 
per key cannot be found, and the oaken door is 
burst open and the sophs throng into the rope 
room to break the check rod on the cords. When 
this is done, the class-poet takes his stand under 
the freed ropes, and amid loud, long, vigorous 
yells of joy, he plays upon the university chimes 


THE MAKING OF A MILLIONAIRE. 


49 


the music of the class song, which announces to 
the people of Kings City that the freshmen had 
come out second best. 

But we freshies had our revenge soon afterwards. 
Unknown to the freshmen, the sophomores made 
arrangements for a grand spread to be given to 
their young ladies at a hotel some miles from 
Kings City, one night during my first winter at 
college. At the last moment some treacherous 
sophs who preferred a row to a quiet little con- 
ventional evening with the ladies whispered to 
the president of our class that their class was to 
hold a banquet that evening. Where this was to 
be held the infidel sophs refused to tell; but they 
went to the length of saying that the party would 
leave the city in covered omnibuses. 

The requirements of the law of custom compelled 
the freshmen to break up this party at all hazards ; 
so, scarcely had the shades of evening fallen, when 
we freshmen were divided into pairs and stationed 
on all the city roads leading to the country. My 
chum, Clarence Dewdney, and myself had hidden 
our horses in a gateway, while we ourselves crouched 
in the dark on the road, nearly a mile from the 
meeting-house of the class of Blankety Seven. 
It had been agreed that whenever any of the 
scouts should find a clew to the whereabouts of the 
sophs he would telephone to our president at head- 
quarters, who in turn would telegraph to the other 
scouts to order them all to follow upon the trail. 

It was nearing nine o’clock and no order had 
been received by any of us^ when in the darkness 


50 


THE MAKING OF A MILLIONAIRE. 

our ears caught the sound of moving wheels. In 
direct contradiction of the city laws none of these 
conveyances — eight in number we afterwards 
learned — showed lanterns or carried bells, so that 
our suspicions were aroused on the instant. With- 
out the lapse of an instant I ran to the telephone- 
post, reported to headquarters, and in a few minutes 
dozens of the freshmen came tearing down the 
road. Sending one pair to keep the omnibuses in 
view, the party halted here until the remainder of 
our forces had arrived on the scene. Then we 
were to decide what course to pursue. 

Arriving at the hotel in the darkness, the fresh- 
men quietly removed a wheel from each of the 
transports of the sophomores, and having hidden 
these wheels under the hay in the stables we sur- 
rounded the inn itself. At the command of our 
president we marched up to the doors and win- 
dows, where being politely refused admission, 
without much ado we began such a fusillade and 
ramming that not one window or door on the 
ground-floor of the hotel remained intact after a 
brief time. The presence of the ladies interfered 
with the movements of the sophomores, but blood 
would have been spilled had not some mischievous 
soph turned off the lights in the hope of enjoying 
a fight in the darkness. A few quick blows had 
been exchanged on either side, when the well- 
known voice of our president called out in the 
darkness : 

“Stop, stop, gentlemen, or you will hurt th^ 
ladies !" 


THE MAKING OF A MILLIONAIRE. 5 I 

His command was greeted with cheers from 
both parties and was followed by a short speech 
from the president of the sophomores, who in the 
most cunning of speeches invited the invaders to 
partake of the scarcely begun banquet. This un- 
looked for invitation the freshmen accepted by a 
vigorous shouting of the yell of the sophomore 
class. The lights were turned on and everybody 
sat down to a sumptuous spread which, though 
arranged for but about one hundred and fifty per- 
sons, by a mystery of cookdom more than satisfied 
the appetites of as many more. Blue-points on 
the half-shell, consomme, fried lobster, turkey, with 
its accompaniments of cranberry sauce, were dis- 
posed of, and then the champagne poured in 
torrents, and when the cloth had been removed 
and the glasses refilled the singing and speech- 
making began in earnest. The poets of the 
respective classes sang their several lays. The 
class yells were given three times over, after 
which the sophomore’s president in a neat speech 
said our class was the best lot of freshies he had 
ever heard of. He complimented us upon our 
pluck, our chivalry, and the manly way in which 
we had accepted inevitable defeat in the cane 
rush, and he hoped that in the future both junior 
classes would join hands against the conceited 
upper classmen. 

The president of our class next followed, assur- 
ing the sophs that the excellence of their hospital- 
ity was exceeded by nothing but the beauty of 
their lady members and friends. or two sweet 


52 THE MAKING OF A MILLIONAIRE. 

solos from the ladies, and a score of noisy chorus 
songs from the men, preceded a Scottish ballad 
sung by the popular American Dombey : 

JOHN BARLEYCORN. 

There came three merry men from the East, 

And three merry men they be ; 

And they have sworn a solemn oath, 

John Barleycorn shall dee. 

They have taken a plow and plowed him down, 

Put clods upon his head. 

And they have sworn a solemn oath, 

John Barleycorn was dead. 

But the springtime it came on at last. 

And showers began to fall, 

John Barleycorn sprang up again. 

Which did surprise them all. 

When the summer heat on him did beat. 

And he grew pale and wan, 

John Barleycorn has got a beard. 

Like any other man. 

They’ve ta’en a hook, that was full sharp. 

And cut him above the knee ; 

And they’ve bound him intill a corn cart. 

Like a thief for the gallows tree. 

They've ta’en twa sticks, that were full stout. 

And sore they beat his bones. 

The miller used him worse than that. 

And ground him atween twa stones. 

The brewster’s wife he’ll not forget. 

And well her tale can tell. 

She’s beaten the sap out of his bodie, 

And made out of it good ale, 


THf^: MAKING OF A MILLIONAIRE. 


53 


And they have filled it in a cup. 

And drank it round and round, 

And a’ the mair they drank o’ it, 

The mair did joy abound. 

John Barleycorn is the wightest man 
Tiiat ever throve on land, 

For he could put a Wallace down. 

With the turning of his hand. 

He’ll gar the huntsman shoot his dog, 

FI is gold a miser scorn. 

He’ll gar a maiden dance stark-naked, 

Wi’ the tooming of a horn. 

He’ll change a man into a boy, 

A boy into an ass. 

He’ll change your gold into silver. 

Your silver into brass. 

And here we have his very heart blood, 

Sae bizzing bright and brown, 

And ay we’ll birll tlie tither stoop. 

And ay we’ll bend it round. 

And ye will drink a health to me. 

And I’ll drink one to you ; 

For he never misses health or wealth. 

That wi’ Johnny’s blood is full.” 

The health of Dombey was drank in boisterous 
style, and the veracity of the first part of the 
third last stanza was soon evinced by the declared 
determination of the banqueters to proceed to the 
town to kindle an enormous bonfire on the hill 
crowned by the university buildings. 

Though we searched for half an hour not one of 


S4 


THE MAKING OF A MTlTJONAIkE. 


the hidden wheels could we find, so the ladies 
were handed into the vehicles in which the fresh- 
men had come out, while all the men forming into 
a line, six-abreast, marched off to the city, sing- 
ing and shouting as loud as they could. When 
the army reached a hardware store on Queen 
street, they smashed the plate-glass windows with- 
out a moment’s consideration of consequences, 
and in short order each student was supplied with 
a tin horn, which he blew as hard as his wind 
would allow, or with a tin basin, or with a clothes- 
boiler or a stove-pipe, on which they beat such a 
tattoo as might have awakened the dead. Shout- 
ing and hooting and dinning and blowing, the col- 
umn marched back through the town where, near- 
ing the post-office, they were met by four police- 
men, who threatened to arrest the whole crowd if 
they did not cease their rioting. 



THE MAKING OF A MILLIONAIRE. 55 

Although it was now nearly two o’clock in the 
morning fully half the city was awake and in their 
dressing-gowns and night-caps gazed upon the in- 
vaders from their bedroom windows or the house- 
tops. A yell of laughter responded to the threat 
of the police officials, who in a fit of anger grasped 
the arms of four of us, Clarence Dewdrey and my_ 
self being among the number, and speedily clap- 
ping the handcuffs on us, ordered us to turn to the 
right, as they now arrested the whole army. 

We might well have taken the officers and strung 
them up to telegraph poles, but we were all feel- 
ing good-natured, and so without a murmur of dis- 
content the column followed to the cells the offi- 
cers and their prisoners, those not having any horn 
to blow making themselves hoarse by continuous 
cries of : 


Hip, Poo, Roo ! 

Ree, Rip, Rah ! ! 

Kings City, Kings City, 

Rah, Rah, Rah ! ! ! 

The jail had accommodation for no more than a 
dozen individuals, so that of the students the offi- 
cers placed in custody only those who had been 
handcuffed. At this the others of the crowd pre- 
^ tended to be highly indignant, and those who 
could reach the windows or the doors of the jail, 
began to beat upon them time to the college song 
with the ends of their horns or tin dishes, while the 
others made the night hideous with many howls 
and hootings. 


56 THE MAKING OF A MILLIONAIRE. 


From my cell I could hear Dombey expostula- 
ting with the captain of police : 

Come, sir; come, sir: this won’t do. A fine 
state of courtesy it is to arrest a man and leave 
him in the street without locking him up, I tell 
you, sir, I won’t stand it. As a citizen of the 
United States I will appeal to my countrymen to 
seek vengeance upon you for this partial treat- 
ment. If you haven’t room for all of us, you have 
no business arresting us ; and now, if you don’t 
open those doors and lock us up, we’ll burn down 
your damn doors and lock ourselves in the cells.” 

In vain the officer endeavored to show Dombey 
he did not mean to arrest the whole crowd. 
Dombey replied that if the captain were half a 
man he would not go back on his word, for to ar- 
rest the whole crowd he surely had threatened. 
Then the students set up the cry : “ Come, s*ir : 
come, sir ; lock us up, sir ; do your duty, sir.” 

By this time a thousand people had surrounded 
the jail. Everybody took the best enjoyment from 
the joke, and when a score of the upper classmen 
came round the corner with a brass nine-pounder 
belonging to a near-by saloon keeper, and set it up 
opposite the main entrance, the shout of approba- 
tion was deafening. 

With much pomposity the gun was loaded with 
powder and nails, the crowd ordered back, and 
Dombey and another sophomore came forward to 
parley with the captain of police. In a loud voice 
they told that official that unless he would lock up 
the prisoners they would cannonade the establish- 


THE MAKING OF A MILLIONAIRE. 


57 


merit, and finish up by chopping off the hands and 
feet of the seven policemen who refused to do 
their duty. This intimid<ited the captain, who 
agreed to lock up all the prisoners if they promised 
not to make any more noise. 

The doors were thrown open, and the sophs and 
freshmen poured into the halls and opened the 
cells to have a game of cards with the prisoners 
who had been locked up before. True to their 
word, these fellows made no noise, and they might 
have remained in jail contentedly until Doomsday 
had not the juniors and seniors come to the doors 
and windows, and demanded to be also locked up 
for having disturbed the peace. This the captain 
refused to do, whereupon the uppers began to cry 
most mournfully, and neither did they cease to 
lament until the sophomore s and freshmen from 
the inside unbarred the doors to the poor fellows. 
But these being opened they not only refused to 
come in, but insisted that the underclassmen should 
see them to their homes. On behalf of the latter 
Dombey said that they would be pleased to do so, 
were they not detained by the strong arm of the 
law, but if the captain would allow the prisoners 
their liberty for a few minutes, they would see the 
uppers to their several residences, and then return 
to surrender themselves to juTice. The captain 
hastened to say that it would give him great joy 
to be of any service to the worthy university peo- 
ple, and not only could the prisoners see home the 
juniors and seniors, but if they had no objections, 


58 THE MAKING OF A MILLIONAIRE. 


they could just as well see each other home, with- 
out troubling themselves to walk back to the jail. 

This permission was greeted with a cheer from 
the citizens whose number had increased to another 
thousand by this time, and the whole crowd of 
prisoners, students and citizens marched off to 
the university hill, where amid the loudest and 
wildest yells the students set fire to the eighty-six 
cords of wood which the college authorities had 
destined as fuel for the coming winter. 

Scarcely a week passed in the four years I re- 
mained in this institution but some such disturb- 
ance occurred between the students and the police 
or the people, and often did I wonder why it was 
the government did not station at Kings City a 
regiment of infantry and a company of artillery 
for the special purpose of keeping in order the 
students of the university. I was a nonsensical 
youth, and more than once I was arrested with 
others for breaking a shop window, rolling a street 
car off its track, cutting electric light and telegraph 
wires, knocking the cap off of a policeman, and 
other such minor offences, but each time I escaped 
with a fine, which I never paid, for the magistrates 
did their best to keep clear of the students. 

Like all college boys 1 had the usual number of 
love affairs in those four years. With the daughter 
of the Greek professor I was madly in love because 
her nose bore such a close resemblance to the 
statues of Diana which stood in the lower corridor 
of the fine arts building ; a city girl I loved be- 
cause her cheeks were peachy and her teeth as 


THE MAKING OF A MILLIONAIRE. 59 

bright as pearls ; and another enchanted me by her 
graceful even walk ; while a fourth brought me to 
her feet for no other reason than that she wore 
gold rimmed glasses. A society girl won my heart 
because she never spoke two consecutive sentences 
without introducing into them French or Latin 
phrases I could not comprehend, and when she 
cast me aside, my soul poured forth its love upon 
an aesthetic Boston lady whom Dombey spoke of as 
“ infatuated with the exuberance of her own 
verbosity.” Another girl I loved because I always 
found her in church ; still another because of her 
commanding height ; while 
a Mexican girl captivated 
my heart through her cig- 
arette smoking, general 
vivacity, and perpetual 
singing of comic songs k 
la Bowery. But the effect 
which any of these had on 
my mind was really un- 
mentionable by the side of 
the one which filled me 
each of the few times I 
could dare to exchange a 
few words with Sybil 
Yessex. There was noth- 
ing unusual in her being in the Kings City univer- 
sity — all Boodleburg people of wealth and rank 
send their children there to be educated. 

Miss Yessex was a member of the Alpha Phi 
society, whose membership was noted for its 



6o 


THE MAKING OF A MILLIONAIRE. 


utter exclusiveness. She lived with her aunt, a 
puritanical sort of a woman who chilled even auda- 
cious college boys by her haughty mien. While I 
flirted and made love to many girls in the univer- 
sity, I secretly recognized that Sybil Yessex was 
my divinity, and I loved and venerated her in my 
soul of souls more and more each day. But con- 
sidering the extreme wealth of Miss Yessex, her 
extremely strict aunt, and my extremely meagre 
acquaintance with her, I never dared to call more 
than once or twice, and each time her aunt was 
present. Often I would contrive to meet Sybil at 
some of the formal receptions, but even then her 
aunt was present, and whenever I met Sybil during 
class hours, she was invariably in company with 
her chum, Beatrice Rich, daughter of Sir Blue 
blood Rich, who also lived near Boodleburg. It 
was not often I could catch even a glimpse of 
Sybil for she attended the fine arts course, whose 
recitations were held in a building in an entirely 
different part of the town in which I, like other 
liberal arts course students, were given recitations. 
Besides I had never been extended the slightest 
encouragement from Miss Yessex. She was 
always cordial, of course, but very, very formal, I 
thought, and several times I felt she snubbed me, 
for although I was perfectly free and easy in the 
society of other girls, in the society of Miss 
Yessex I was always ill at ease — “ a perfect 
Mohawk,” as I said to myself — when fortune per- 
mitted me a moment with her. 

The month preceding my baccalaureate week, 


Tllb: MAKING OF A MILLIONAIRE. 6 1 

tlie seniors met in the university chapel and de- 
cided to hold a reunion of the class before finally 
breaking up. Each lady and gentleman of the 
seniors wrote his or her name on a slip of paper 
and threw it into either of the two hats passed 
around, one for the names of ladies, the other for 
the names of the gentlemen. When every name 
had been written and handed in, the president of 
the class placed the hats side by side on his desk, 
and having tied a bandage over his eyes drew from 
the gentlemen’s hat one slip of paper, and one from 
the hat of the ladies’ names. The man whose 
name had been drawn was thus awarded for the 
whole day of the reunion — which was to take the 
shape of an excursion into the woods — the com- 
pany of the lady who had been likewise selected. 
In like manner the names of all the ladies and an 
equal number of gentlemen were drawn from the 
hats, and as there were nine more men in the class 
than women the nine men who of necessity had no 
ladies’ names selected with their own were per- 
mitted to invite each a young lady from the junior 
classes. 

My appreciation of this plan was not very great 
inasmuch as with the name of my chum had been 
drawn the paper upon which was written the sweet 
name Sybil Yessex, my infatuation for whom I had 
never revealed to any person. Of course I con- 
cealed my disappointment sufficiently to congratu- 
late Clarence upon the prize which fortune had 
decided should be his ; while he himself, playfully 
pitied rae the misfortune allotted me for the day, 


62 


.HE MAKING OF A MILLIONAIRE. 


no other but his own cousin, Beatrice Rich. I had 
never taken much notice of the cousin of my chum, 
though she was “ nice looking for a crowd ” (I con- 
sidered) and a member of our class ; for having had 
occasion to remain in her company at a faculty at 
home, I had with difficulty managed to elicit nine- 
teen words of conversation from her in about forty- 
five minutes. She had such a horrid nose too (I 
thought), and such a baby mouth, and an insignifi- 
cant expression about the eyes that I felt that 
the fates had doomed me to a day of boredom, 
so that I went to the length of attempting to 
break my arm in hopes of escaping from the ex- 
cursion party. But there was no way out of the 
affair ; my endeavors at self-injury failed completely, 
and the best compromise I could effect was that 
Clarence and Miss Yessex should make the trip in 
the same vehicle with Miss Rich and me. 

Reaching the outskirts of the Glen of Vesta, in 
which the spirits of departed poets are fabled to 
hold festival each night, we gave our horses and 
carriages to a farm boy. We had not preceded 
very far into the glen when Clarence pointed out a 
ledge of bare rock which could be reached only 
by a difficult winding path. He offered to bet the 
theatre tickets that he could reach this ledge and 
light a cigarette before any of the rest would be 
half way up. 

As the ascent was really a perilous one I thought 
him only in jest, so imagine my astonishment when 
Miss Rich promptly took up the wager. The 
two started on a run and were soon lost to si^ht. 


THE MAKING OF A MILLIONAIRE. 63 

Sybil and I were thus so unexpectedly and un- 
naturally left alone, and the action of Clarence and 
Miss Rich was so amazing, that I actually fell to 
the ground in a daze. I learned next day that it 
was a patched-up job, and that, too, without either 
of the other three suspecting what I thought of 
Sybil Yessex. After a good laugh at our friends’ 
disappearance (a forced laugh on my part, by-the. 
bye). Miss Yessex and I proceeded along the grav- 
eled walk which led to the entrance to the glen. 
A pretty brook which courses the length of the 
deep dale makes here a steep decline of ten feet, 
and is afterwards lost to view. Along slated and 
graveled walks, over rustic bridges, up dozens of 
steps chiseled in the perpendicular rock, across nat- 
ural archways of stone, through long, deep tunnels 
cut in the granite by some long desisted subterra- 
nean river, under the protecting boughs of avenued 
cedars and elms, stopping to examine the curious 
rocks, the enormous trees, the cunningly-arranged 
cedar bridges, the caves of the departed poets, and 
their underground banquet halls, silently gazing 
upon the angry brook as it dashed itself in a fury 
against some misplaced boulder which proudly 
reared its head high above the reaches of its watery 
antagonist ; or pausing to listen with suppressed 
breathing to the dreamland music of the rare birds 
that dwell in the haunts of the immortals, I asked 
myself repeatedly if I were really awake or if it 
were not all an ill dream which so deceived me. 
Loosed by circumstances of our surroundings — 
nature in its purest aspect, in that shaded and seclu- 


64 the making of a millionaire. 

ded glen — the voice of Sybil Yessex was to me the 
soft ripple of the steady mountain streamlet be- 
neath the silvery rays of the midnight moon. 

Never until then did I love poetry, not until 
uttered through the sweet lips of Sybil did I find 
appreciation of Wordsworth, Bryant, and Longfel- 
low. Standing upon a ledge of rock, Sybil gazed 
in silent rapture up the glen, both sides of which, 
almost meeting at the bottom at an angle of about 
forty-five degrees, ascended for fully one hundred 
feet. 

At a distance of perhaps a quarter of a mile 
further up the glen, and stretching from both walls, 
a small bridge of limestone, carved by nature, 
spanned the brook, which began a gradual but 
noisy descent of twenty-five feet, until reaching 
within a yard or two of its late turbulence. Here 
and there protruded from the descending water the 
round back of a marble boulder or the sharp head 
of a granite pillar, while now and again a moment- 
ary gleaming would tell us that the speckled trout 
had hither found its way. 

On either upward sloping side what surface was 
left uncovered by the wild honeysuckle, the golden- 
rod, the violet, the hundred-leaf, or occasionally the 
majestic trunk of a maple or towering elm, was 
adorned by a moss-sheathed bluestone, or a short 
thick carpet of green. But for the swaying of 
leaves in the soft breeze, the complaint of the 
brook, or the casual chirp of a happy bird, not a 
sound disturbed the atmosphere. There stood 
S/bil, silent, her hand§ folded behind her ; her 


THE MAKING OF A MILLIONAIRE. 


65 

bosom heaving ; her nostrils distended ; her lips 
slightly parted , her cheeks aglow ; her eyes spark- 
ling, while a cool zephyr 
kissed the dark circlet of 
hair which strove to re- 
lease itself from her tem- 
ple. All visions of other 
women faded away before 
this poem. I felt my 
whole soul go out to her, 
and I bet she understood 
me, and was not offended 
at my secret adoration of 
her. Emerging from the 
glen some three hours 
after entering it, and leav- 
ing the brook, we saun- 
tered over some meadow land, where we came to 
a stone fence. Having clambered over this we 
found ourselves in the roadway, which a minute 
after brought us to the farmhouse on the lawn 
of which the whole party was to lunch. There 
were speeches and songs and all the other attend- 
ants on a picnic luncheon, but in none of these 
could I take the least interest. Not only my heart, 
but my mind as well, were wrapped in enjoyment 
of my new happiness. 

It was late when the party left the farmhouse, 
some in their carriages, but most, like the party to 
which I belonged, on foot to where the horses had 
been left. The nearest course for Sybil and me 
was through a woodland, in which is furnished to 



66 


THE MAKING OF A MILLIONAIRE. 


the magnificent St. Lawrence one of its many tribu- 
taries. The small but continuous overflow of the 
mountain lake wemds its way through the bottom 
of a chasm or gulch in tumultuous fashion, 
first flowing descendingly with a greenish hue, then 
turning jet-black into a spacious sort of niche, 
whence it leaps upon the tabled rock, its descent 
from which is broken here and there by rocks partly 
concealed, and by the w'ater itself. Next it rests 
for a time to allow of its settling, and then pro- 
ceeds in a smooth unruffled course for the distance 
of a mile, at the end of which it is prettily joined 
by two similar streamlets, forming such a meeting 
of rivulets that suggest that lovely hymn of 
Moore : 

“ There’s not in this wide world a valley more sweet 
Than the vale in whose bosom the wild waters meet.” 

We long stand in absorbed contemplation of the 
charming scene ; but the shades of twilight are 
fast deepening into shadows of night. One by one 
the objects fade from our vision ; and as we turned 
homeward we see no longer, though we well can 
hear the greetings of the waters in that small but 
pretty vale. 


THE MAKING OF A MILLIONAIRE. 6/ 


PORTION SIX. 

I ENTER THE SERVICE OF HER MAJESTY. 

When I returned to Boodleburg from Kings City 
I could hardly contain myself with the knowledge 
of my own importance. “ My bonnet was cocked,” 
as the Irish widows say, for a situation in the Civil 
Service. To obtain such berth the preliminary 
step is an examination before a board of learned 
men who ascertain if the applicant is capable litera- 
rily to hold office in the service with a capital “ S.” 
So that when the board of examiners informed me 
that I must undergo an examination into my liter- 
ary capabilities I curled my lip in contempt of their 
ignorance of the necessary erudition of a university 
alumnus. Yet taking circumstances into consider- 
ation, I decided to overlook their lack of knowl- 
edge. 

Written leave to apply for examination having 
been obtained from the board, for the trifling fee 
of five dollars a fashionable physician certified 
without having seen me that I was mentally and 
physically sound enough to hold office in the Ser- 
vice, and that I was of good character. The parish 
priest had been installed less than two weeks be- 
fore, yet he certified that he had “ known me for 
some time,” and found me to be of irreproachable 


68 


THE MAKING OF A MILLIONAIRE. 


character. The city governor next was seen, and 
being assured by my father that he would vote for 
him and use his influence in his behalf at the next 
election, believing him to be the best man for the 
place, the worthy civic offlcer endorsed my applh 
cation for Civil Service examination. 

Clarence Dewdney went up for examination the 
same year as I, and being in proper place on the 
day appointed for examination, we were given the 
following paper in English history : 

“ What was the color of Queen Elizabeth’s pet- 
ticoats ?” 

“ Was the English hero who licked the French 
at Trafalgar bald-headed or otherwise?” 

“ How many hard-boiled eggs could William the 
Conqueror eat in a year?” and a dozen others of 
similar immateriality and nonsensity. 

In grammar we were asked to parse the follow- 
ing sentences : 

(1) “ Britannia is the pride of the ocean, and can 
lick the United States any time the latter wants to 
try it.” 

(2) “ If it were not for the British noblemen 
what would the American heiresses do ?” 

In arithmetic we were given problems like this: 

“If 10,000 British redcoats drive away at the 
rate of fifty miles an hour 50,000 American soldiers, 
how many English grenadiers would it take to 
drive them away at the rate of seventy-five miles 
an hour ?” 

In geography questions were asked similar to 
this ; 


THE MAKING OF A MILLIONAIRE. 69 

“ What is the population of the town of Victoria, 
in Van Dieman’s land ?” 

We were instructed to correct the spelling in the 
following : 

“ Gode safe oure gracious Queene.” 

Although I had graduated from a university, 1 
must admit that I did not even attempt to answer 
any of the questions with the exception of this one. 
That I could indeed spell correctly for I had read 
the sentence on every circus poster, business 
dodger, theater programme, and mercantile adver- 
tising since I first began to read. Next to murder- 
ing the chief magistrate of Canada, the crime of 
leaving out of a programme or advertisement the 
words “ God save the Queen,” is the worst im- 
aginable, and a man would be hanged sooner for 
omitting that mark of loyalty than he would for 
robbing the people of thousands of dollars. 

Only such as successfully passed this Civil Ser- 
vice examination were appointed to positions ; 
and as the number of annual vacancies was greatly 
exceeded by the number of applicants therefor, 
the examinations were more rigorous than the na- 
ture of the work really required. My grief was 
unbounded as I returned home on the evening of 
the examination day, for with all my learning I 
could not even attempt to answer any more than 
half a dozen of the three hundred questions asked, 
altogether. I thrust my hands into my trouser 
pockets ; and although my father said it was a 
shame, and my mother endeavored to comfort me, 

I refused to be consoled. 


70 


THE MAKING OF A MILLIONAIRE. 


But next week’s mail brought me the compli- 
ments of the Board of Civil Service Examiners, 
congratulating me upon passing successfully 
through the examiners’ ordeal, and hoping I would 
soon be appointed to the Service, A very ela- 
borate diploma was enclosed, certifying my qualifi- 
cation to take any position in the gift of the gov- 
ernment. 

I afterwards learned that my father had inter- 
viewed the chief examiner the night following the 
day of my examination. Being a cousin of Sir 
John Alexander, Minister of Immigration, my 
answer papers were burned and the diploma certi- 
fying to my proficiency was issued. 

Then the wire-pulling began. Interviewing 
members of the House of Commons and Senate, 
ministers of state and ministers of the church, 
aldermen, electors, superintendents of departments, 
etc,, etc., in all of which as I was yet too young to 
vote and consequently of not the slightest import- 
ance I took no part. 

Having nothing better to do, I occupied my 
leisure by writing poems to Sybil. Each day I 
would spin out a poem and send it to her. In 
return she would send me such sweet billet-doux 
written on fine paper with the family coat-of-arms 
emblazoned on the left hand corner of the top. 
With the usual number of “darlings,” “pets,” 
“dears,” “ sweetnesses,” etc., etc., left out to save 
space, this is one letter of hers that throughout my 
life has remained indelibly impressed upon my 


THE MAKING OF A MILLIONAIRE. 7 1 

memory, even after she had — but 1 will not speak 
of that at present : 

“ No matter how far we are separated, no matter 
how we may be divided, and no matter whoever 
interferes, rest assured I can never forget you, and 
to love another I could not.’' 

One morning I received a letter appointing me 
under the Great Waxen Seal of the Dominion of 
Canada ; under the signature of our royal cousin 
the most Honorable and Excellent Marquis of 
Forlorn ; under the ditto of the Keeper of the 
State Documents ; and under the likewise of the 
Educational Department, to have and hold the 
office of third class clerk. 

“ Early to bed, early to rise, 

Make a man healthy, wealthy and wise,” 

was the maxim of the Government. They made 
and enforced the law that we must get around 
early each morning. Ten o’clock was the time 
fixed for all to be at our desks. That was such a 
dreadfully early hour that usually every morning 
I would be compelled to run half way to the 
office in order to be there on time. When I would 
arrive, I would be so flurried and hot after my run 
that it would be necessary for me to lie perfectly 
still upon the sofa in my office for fully half an 
hour. Then thirst would come upon me, com- 
pelling me to ring for a messenger to fetch me 
a glass of ice water. That would scarcely refresh 
me any, necessitating my sending him to the 


72 THE MAKING OF A MILLIONAIRE. 

coffee-room near by to bring me a glass of soda 
and B. This would never fail to fix me up. 

But my moustache and hair would have become 
so horribly out of curl when I had been in such a 
heat, one of the messengers would have to hold 
the iron over the fire in the grate until my coiffure 
had been arranged. Not having much leisure for 
performing my toilet before coming to the office, 
as I had to get there so early, my finger nails 
would need trimming. When they had been 
righted, I would find I had forgotten to have my 
cigar case filled the previous evening. Ringing 
for the messenger to go and have it refilled was the 
only alternative. 

Before I was aware of the flight of time it was 
twelve o’clock. None of us Civil Servants were 
expected to go out for luncheon without permis- 
sion from the chief of the department. This per- 
mit would be granted to those who were real 
sick, and had a doctor’s certificate to the effect 
that a noon walk was absolutely necessary. I 
presume it was due to the badness of the climate 
of Boodleburg that every Civil Servant was sick 
and had a written doctor’s certificate by virtue of 
which he was allowed to go home for luncheon. 
Coming back at one o’clock, I would recollect I 
had forgotten to write my daily poem to Sybil ; so 
I would sit down and spin it out. A number of 
other people would be expecting letters from me, 
and as it did not cost the Servants anything for 
paper or postage stamps (for the Civil Service is a 
privileged class), some days I would send the 


THE MAKING OE A MILLIONAIRE. ^3 

messenger to the post-office with ten or twelve 
letters. 

It would be now nearly three o’clock. I would 
rack my brains to think of something with which 
to kill the remaining hour we were compelled to 
stay on the premises. Not thinking of something 
more entertaining I would go to Clarence Dewdney, 
now a clerk in the next department, and get him 
to come out and have a game of tennis on the 
lawn in front of the buildings. Here we would 
play until four o’clock, when we would be dis- 
missed to our homes, utterly fagged out with the 
hurry scurry of the day. 

But as Saturday afternoon would be a half 
holiday, we were then afforded some opportunity 
of recuperating 

The chief clerk in my department was a fine 
fellow, I thought then, always full of the “ old 
’arry.” Smoking a cigarette near to my desk one 
day I remarked to him, I could not under- 
stand how the boys dressed so nicely on such 
small salaries. He burst into laughter. 

“By Jove, Daniels,” he said, “that’s a capital 
good joke of yours.” 

“ Don’t say,” said I, failing to see 'where the 
point was. 

“ Blowed to China, if you are not a dull one, old 
fellow. By Jove, that beats three of a kind.” 
Asking him to explain the joke, he only laughed 
the louder. 

“ By the bye,” he said presently, “ don’t you 
wish you might go down with me to Spark street, 


74 the making of a millionaire. 

order a new suit of clothes, a derby, walking-stick, 
eye-glass and kid gloves, without them costing you 
a farthing 

My unmoved reply was : 

“Wouldn’t mind if I did, Dupont.” 

“ Well, by Jove, wait for me at four. I’ll take you 
down and have you ‘ ride the goat.’ ’’ 

At the time mentioned chief clerk Dupont, Clar- 
ence and myself, boarded an electric car which 
brought us to the door of a fashionable tailor’s. I 
selected what I liked best, imagining that the chief 
clerk was going to foot the bill and make me a 
present of the lot, but when we were about to de- 
part with the outfit, the merchant modestly re- 
marked : 

“ When shall you call and settle, Mr. Daniels ?” 

Before I had time to say a word, Dupont inter- 
posed : 

“ Why, you old greenie, don’t you know he is en- 
try clerk in the Education Department ? Just you 
make out your bill and send it to me, and you’ll 
get a check by return mail.” 

The merchant gave a knowing wink, and two 
days afterwards the bill of forty-five dollars was 
received by the chief (who by-the-by had something 
about him which had immediately set me to think- 
ing where I had seen him before). 

He filed the bill in a tin box with a lot of other 
similar bills, locked it up, and put it away. The 
following entry was made in the day book, “ Gave 
check for forty-five dollars, on account of office 
furnishings, to O. L. D. Greenie and Co.” 


THE MAKING OE A MILLIONAIRE. 


75 


A perfect snap is the life of a Civil Service em- 
ploye. Appointed at a salary of six hundred per 
annum, an increase of fifty dollars is granted to 
him every six months, until the limit of $3,500 is 
reached. If after a service of twelve years or 
more a Civil Service produces a doctor’s certificate 
of disablement he is permitted to retire, and one 
half of the per annum salary he is receiving at the 
time of retirement is payable to him each year 
afterwards until the time of his death. Mostly all 
the servants wait until they reach the $3,500 limit 
before retiring and producing the doctor’s certifi- 
cate. 


THE MAKING OF A MILLIONAIRE. 


s PORTION SEVEN. 

AN ACQUAINTANCE BOBS UP, AND I MAKE A 
COUNTRY VISIT. 

Warren Yessex lived in the high-toned part of 
Boodleburg, on Sandy Hill, and Sybil being gradu- 
ated from Kings City university, became her 
father’s housekeeper. It was to Yessex’s business 
interest that he favor the conservative party for 
tariff reasons, and as Sir John Alexander was now 
one of the leaders of the conservative party, and 
his wife the social goddess of the Roman Catholic 
element of Boodleburg, Sir John and Yessex were 
very friendly. Such being the case, it was not 
astounding that old Warren consented to my en- 
gagement with Sybil. But he made it conditional. 
We were not to be married until I had reached the 
third anniversary of my appointment to the Civil 
Service, and in the meanwhile no outsiders were 
to know of the betrothal. 

Sybil and I simply adored each other by this 
time, and every evening I would call upon her or 
take her out. If a play was to be presented we 
went to witness it together, or if anything unusual 
was to take place we managed to get invitations or 
buy tickets as the case might require. Quite often 
she would call for me at the office at four o’clock, 


THE MAKING OF A MILLIONAIRE. 


77 


and I would take her for a row on the Boodleburg 
river, or for a drive into the country before dinner. 

Sybil at twenty-two had all the pleasing simpli- 
city of a girl of seventeen. She was quite tall in 
fact, but her gracefulness made her look taller 
than she really was. As she walked down the 
boulevard alone, attired in her favorite street col- 
ors of black and silver, her quiet even tread brought 
to one’s mind the image of a swan slowly skimming 
over the surface of a silent woodland lake. Her 
face was neither oval nor round, and though the 
skin of the head was creamy white, with here and 
there a lovely freckle, it looked as though Dame 
Nature had carelessly dropped a spot of crimson 
ink on each of her dimpled cheeks. Her liquid 
coal-black eyes were of that particular largeness 
peculiar to the very few women gifted with a fac- 
ulty for that all-absorbing love, altruistic love of 
and implicit trust in every living being. Her 
teeth were not “ pearly white ” as the heroine’s in 
the novels always are, but they were large and 
ivory white, and displayed to charming advantage 
whenever Sybil favored one by laughing. As for 
Sybil’s nose and chin, a stranger would scarcely 
ever notice them, so unconspicuous they were, and 
yet so beautiful, according to my personal idea of 
how a beautiful nose and chin ought to be moulded. 
A pair of gold-rimmed eye-glasses with a dainty 
little chain accentuated the classicalness of Sybil’s 
whole countenance, and never since have I gazed 
upon an eye-glassed young lady without feeling a 
certain thrill of joy. As for the manners and ap- 


78 


THE MAKING OF A MILLIONAIRE. 


pearance of Sybil, a casual acquaintance would 
describe her as just cut out of the pages of Sir 
Walter Scott’s mediaeval maiden stories, and though 
she would impress most people as being a veritable 
Dora, those few who could claim an intimate ac- 
quaintance with her realized that she had all the 
soft, yielding and clinging manners of a Dora with 
the wisdom, education, and seriousness of an Agnes 
Copperfield. 

As chief clerk Dupont was quite friendly to 
Clarence and me and we often took luncheon or a 
stroll together, I took pleasure in introducing him 
to Miss Yessex (not forgetting to mention to him 
privately next day that she was my fiancee). 

Clarence looked upon Dupont as a very congen- 
ial fellow, notwithstanding the fact of his being a 
black-whiskered man, old enough to be the father 
of any of us. He liked Dupont so much that he 
became quite chummy with him — riding, rowing, 
and dining with him, quite regularly. I liked Du- 
pont very well myself, but the familiar atmosphere 
I noticed about him at first still hung about him, 
and I was not a little puzzled as to where I had 
met him before, and if I really had done so. I had 
indeed asked him if he had not met me somewhere 
before, but he assured me he had not had the good 
fortune. 

He was a medium-sized man, with large blue 
eyes, bushy black hair, and a heavy black full 
beard. (How I now hate men with blue eyes and 
bushy beards). Notwithstanding his assurance 
that he had not previously known me I was still 


THE MAKING OF A MILLIOxNAIRE. 


79 


convinced he did, but was perfectly astounded 
to learn by accident one day that he was nobody 
else but my old professor in the Boodleburg 
Academy, Brother Nyle. 

As I had known him years before, he was a 
smooth-faced individual, with hair closely cropped, 
as was demanded by the rules of the order to 
which he belonged. When I learned his identity 
and angrily told him of the fact he turned pale at 
first, but then he begged me not to mention to 
anyone else the fact of his being an ex-brother (for 
ex-brothers and ex-priests were extremely unpopu- 
lar in those days in Canada). I had no object to 
obtain just then in doing otherwise, so I gave my 
promise 

Sir Blue-Blood Rich had two charming daugh- 
ters who lived with him in his castle-like residence, 
situated on an immense estate, less than five hun- 
dred miles from Boodleburg. 

Civil servants are entitled to a month’s vacation 
per annum, during all of which time they of course 
draw their pay. Clarence had arranged to spend 
his vacation on the estate of his uncle. Sir Blue- 
Blood, as fishing, shooting and hunting were un- 
limited in that place. 

Chief Clerk Dupont granted me my leave of ab- 
sence at the same time Clarence’s was issued, in 
order that I too might accept the invitation of Sir 
Blue-Blood Rich, to pass the month partaking of 
his entertainment. 

With gun-case, fishing-tackle, tennis-racquet and 
valise, Sybil drawing me into her covered carriage 


8o 


THE MAKING OF A MILLIONAIRE. 


and kissing me good-bye a number of times, and 
vice versa, Clarence and I boarded a Gotno train, 

and soon had arrived at 


£ 



the railway station near- 
est to Sir Blue-Blood’s 
mansion. We had writ- 
ten a week previously to 
inform our host upon 
what train to expect us, 
in order that he might 
have a carriage in wait- 
ing. He was not handed 
the letter by the old 
fogy postmaster who 
had a pull with the 
Government until two 
weeks after our arrival, 
so we found no vehicle in waiting for us. A livery- 
man we ourselves engaged deposited us at the 
front gate. Proceeding up the walk to the front 
entrance of the mansion, we left our kits at the 
lowest of the stone-steps, and ascended to the door 
where Clarence pulled at the door-bell four times 
with ten-minute intervals but without causing any 
responsive stir. It was now 2 P. M., so not getting 
any reply from the main door-bell, we thought we 
would try our luck at one of the side or rear doors. 
Walking over the lawn we had reached the kitchen 
door, opened it and peeped in before our proximity 
became known to the persons who owned the 
voices we heard chattering amid the rattle of dish- 
washing. 


THE MAKING OF A MILLIONAIRE. 


8l 


Two pretty damsels with their hair in curl-papers, 
attired in light-colored short dresses and white 
aprons, with their loose sleeves rolled up half-way 
between the elbow and shoulders, all of which dis- 
covering well-rounded arms and rounded ankles, 
were disclosed to observation. One looked twenty 
years of age, the other eighteen or twenty. Seeing 
us enter the elder maiden giving us a sharp glance, 
in which there was a deal of deviltry, instantly 
threw off her dish towel. Making a bee-line for 
me she threw her angelic arms, wet with dish-water, 
around my neck and gave me several warm (the 
water was hot) embraces, before I began to wonder 
where I was at. 

She was plump but not stout and too tall to be 
called short. Every line in her round face denoted 
possession of a large proportion of the Lord Harry. 
As she embraced me in this amazing manner, she 
would exclaim each now again and then : 

“ Clarence, my sweetheart, how good it is to see 
you here !” 

Clarence just put one arm around her waist, and 
with the other took her off my neck, gently remon- 
strating, “ Florence, my dear, you have made a 
mistake, that is my friend Daniels. Don’t you re- 
member him at Kings City university ?” 

Without being apparently disturbed by her 
error, Florence, who had by this time released her 
clasp and retired a space or two, returned as she 
extended her hand. 

“ Much pleased, sir, to renew your acquaintance. 
A thoysand apologies for mistaking you for him ; 


82 


THE MAKING OF A MILLIONAIRE. 


but then you do look so much alike, and as I have 
not seen Clarence for along time, such an accident 
easily happens.” The appearance of the man in the 
moon was more like mine than that of Clarence’s, 
and I knew positively, at the same moment, that 
he had taken her to hear Patti at the grand opera 
house in Boodleburg just two weeks previously. 

Happening at this juncture to remember the 
presence of another lady in the kitchen before the 
hugging scene, I glanced around to where I ex- 
pected she would be. Lo, she had disappeared, and 
in her place stood a rosy-cheeked lass, with dark 
blue eyes, pale blue silk waist, with an enormous 
white silk ribbon tied in a bow over her breast, and 
not a single curl-paper left. She was neither tall 
nor short, yet shorter than the other demoiselle ; 
she was neither lean nor stout, and certain delicate 
lines about the eyes gave me the impression she 
liked an occasional lark. 

Miss Tillie Rich mentioned her pleasure to meet 
Clarence’s friend and soon we were all old friends. 
A marriage of a stable-boy of Sir Blue-Blood’s to 
one of the cook’s assistants accounted for the ab- 
senceof the domestics. The “ Ladies’ Home Jour- 
nal ” had commended dish-washing for whitening 
girls’ hands, and we had dropped in suddenly when 
the young ladies were trying the recipe. 

It was announced at dinner that same evening by 
Sir Blue-Blood that we had just arrived in time, 
A large party of ladies and gentlemen were to ride 
over to his mansion next morning, at his invitation, 
to take part in a rnogk fox hunt. 


THE MAKING OF A MILLIONAIRE. 


33 


CHAPTER VIII. 

HUNTING A FOX, BUT NO FOX HUNTED. 

My first evening at Sir Blue-Blood’s was the 
only one in nearly three years in which I did not 
spend a few hours with Sybil. I was to pass a 
whole month in the country and then return to 
Boodleburg, where Sybil and I were to be married 
at St. Paul’s. 

We had decided to then go abroad for a two 
months’ wedding tour, permission for such a length 
of time from the office being granted me by the 
minister himself. 

There was nothing unusual in my taking a three 
month’s vacation. I had known dozens of em- 
ployes (with especially strong political influence), 
who had obtained leave of absence for six, nine 
and twelve months, and had drawn their salaries 
every month just the same as though they had 
been at their desks. 

I had remained with Sybil particularly late on 
this last night. It was nearly two o’clock when I 
reached home. We were very intimate by this 
time, and Sybil was too trusting, and I too thought- 
less and imprudent. I think I have been suffi- 
ciently punished by this time. As for Sybil, poor 
d^ar, she ^las has suffered, too^ and much more 


84 


THE MAKING OF A MILLIONAIRE. 


than I, though deserving no part of the severe 
punishment 

Through choice of our own, Clarence and I 
slept in the same room the first night after our 
arrival. From the moment we left the library to- 
gether and repaired to our sleeping room up to 
the time when we had undressed and gotten be- 
tween sheets he uttered not a word but seemed 
lost in deep thought. Twice I offered him a 
penny for his thoughts and twice he had not ac- 
cepted my proffer. 

Becoming worried by his silence, I touched his 
arm when we were in bed, and the light extin- 
guished. Comment vous portez-vous^ Clar?’' I 
asked him. He replied in English : 

“ Not any too well, Philip. My mind is greatly 
troubled. I don’t mind telling you as you are my 
intim.ate friend, I am head over heels in love with 
P'lorence Rich.” 

“Well, then, why don’t you ‘pop the ques- 
tion ?’ ” I asked him. “ She’ll get half of Blue- 
Blood’s rocks when he kicks the bucket, and her 
husband would not necessarily starve while the 
pater lives. Besides she is a charming girl, and I 
have a faint impression she is smitten with your 
own graces.” 

“ By Jove, you are indeed a dull one, Daniels. 
Floy and I have been engaged, and her father had 
consented a year ago. But where the shoe pinches 
is here : The family are Episcopalians, and I have 
been imbued for the past three months with the 
gtrong conviction that I must become 4 Rorpaq 


the Making of a millionaire. 


85 


Catholic, and enter that religious order called the 
‘ Capuchins,' or bare-footed priests. You may 
laugh if you will, by Jove, but it is a straight fact. 
I don’t know exactly how I got the notion, but I 
have it nevertheless. I can think of scarcely any- 
thing else during the day, and at night my dreams 
are of the same nature.” 

“ Pooh, pooh,” said I, fifteen-sixteenths asleep. 
“You are feeling blue now; a night’s rest will 
make you look at life in a more enjoyable light.” 
Then we dropped off to Nodland 

The blowing of bugles, trampling of horses, and 
the yelping of dogs announced the arrival of the 
hunt party the next morning. Clarence and I had 
been for some minutes ready to go to breakfast 
arrayed in the regimentals for the day’s hunt. 
These were brown corduroy knee-trousers, yellow 
riding-boots, rolled linen collar, white linen vest, 
black saxe coat, white gloves and derby hat. 

On the side lawn we joined the remainder of the 
party, all the gentlemen of which were arrayed 
like ourselves. The ladies all wore riding-habits 
and derbys. 

Sir Blue-Blood Rich sounded his horn twice and 
an underkeeper issued from the stable-door. A 
cap with a fox’s tail attached, flannel shirt, panta- 
loons, and long felt boots composed his apparel. 
Around the ankles of each foot were tied two sep- 
arate stout cords to each of which was attached 
several little bags of some odorous substance. 

Taking off these boots, he went close up to each 
of the twenty or thirty dogs chained to their sev- 


86 


THE MAKING OF A MILLIONAIRE, 


eral kennels, and allowed them to smell of the 
bags. This done he donned the boots and we-nt 
and stood in a spot viewable by all the dogs. 

A peculiar sound on the bugle, and the foot- 
man was off like a streak of lightning. He made 
for the woods near-by, and simultaneously with 
his start all the dogs set up a most dismal yelping 
and straining at their chains. 

A half hour or forty-five minutes were spent in 
breakfasting and coming back to the lawn, where 
we found the dogs were yelping louder than ever 
and tugging vigorously at their chains. 

The signal was given for ladies to mount their 
horses, I found myself assisting Miss Tillie into her 
saddle. How it thrilled me through to hold her 
dainty foot as I arranged her stirrup ! 

A stableman next loosened all the dogs, and off 
they started after him with the odorized boots. 
By the time the gentlemen were in their saddles 
the dogs were out of sight, but their loud barkings 
could easily be heard. Another signal by the 
bugle, and the cavalcade made a dash in the direc- 
tion taken by the dogs and underkeeper. 

Tillie’s horse and mine were fine beasts, pet 
animals of the young ladies, but as we were 
hemmed in in the centre of the party we could 
not do much with them. 

Arriving at the verge of the woods, however, the 
party had to separate, for the horses could scarcely 
do more than creep along, so dense was the 
shrubbery and undergrowth. 

Clarence and Florence shortly afterwards 


THE MAKING OF A MILLIONAIRE. 87 

branched off to the right incline, and Tillie 
motioned me to follow them with her. We soon 
caught up to them, but as they seemed more dis- 
posed to “ spoon ” than to hunt, we passed them 
by at a swift pace. We rode through a lovely 
country, trees here, meadows there, artificial 
creeks for us to jump across, natural streamlets for 
us to wade, hurdles beside ditches, and hurdles 
without them ; the scenery was most beautiful and 
delightful. 

Riding on in the direction pointed out by Tillie, 
we had not heard or seen a person or other living 
thing besides ourselves for fully two hours ; so 
that I began to think that we might have become 
lost. Opening my lips to remark to that effect, I 
was checked by the barking of a single dog. 
Spurring our horses in the direction whence came 
the sound, in less than two minutes we came upon 
a greyhound, barking and yelping her level best, 
and making most frantic efforts to climb a large 
maple tree. 

As we rode up to the tree she worked the more 
frantically, and making one supreme effort leaped 
on to the lowest branch. Sitting astride of the 
topmost bough the underkeeper removed his 
odorized bags, threw them to the dog, and slipped 
to the ground in a jiffy. Plucking the fox s tail 
from his cap, he cast it at my feet — for I had 
dismounted when we had found our game. Pick- 
ing up the fox’s tail I turned ceremoniously to 
Tillie and half kneeling prayed her to take the 


88 


THE MAKING OF A MILLIONAIRE. 


trophy from my hand, and wear it as the most fair 
lady of the day. Pretending to blush she said : 

Perhaps you mistake me for Floy.” 

I hastened to reassure her. Artlessly she sug- 
gested : 

‘‘Should you assist me from my saddle, Mr. 
Daniels, you might have the honor of pinning the 
trophy over the heart of that ‘ fair lady ’ whom 
you have been flattering.” 

Accordingly we were soon seated in the shade 
of a large elm at the side of a little stream, while 
the underkeeper blew furiously upon his horn to 
call in the other hunters. While the latter were 
arriving by twos and threes Tillie explained that 
Fan (which was the name of the greyhound that 
had discovered the fox), was her own pet dog. 
This keeper had given Fan such a peculiar train- 
ing that she had never yet lost the scent in any of 
the hunts. 

The whole party naving come in with all of the 
dogs, congratulations were heaping upon me for my 
skillfulness (in happening to be near when the prey 
was discovered by Fan) and Tillie was congratu- 
lated and complimented. After quenching our 
thirst with the contents of numerpus flat bottles, 
which fit nicely in the hip-pockets of the trousers, 
the crowd started leisurely homeward, tired out> 
yet very well pleased with the day’s entertain- 
ment. 


THE MAKING OE A MILLIONAIRE 89 


CHAPTER IX. 

ABDUCTED BY INDIANS. 

No end of enjoyment was undergone by Clar- 
ence and me next day, and during the remainder 
of our month’s stay. Between tennis, shooting, 
fishing and hunting, and the young ladies we man- 
aged to put in a good time, the precedent of 
which we had never experienced. Tillie’s gun 
when the party went shooting, was of course car- 
ried by me, as was her fishing-tackle. • 

‘‘ Fisherman’s Paradise,” is the name justly given 
to the lakes, streamlets and rivulets, not only on 
the estate of Sir Blue-Blood, but for miles around 
it. These water places are innumerable. Fishes 
in a hatchery tank are scarcely thicker than in 
these waters. Few people know of the existence 
of these fishing points, and even if they did they 
would not be benefited in the least by their knowl- 
edge of it, as Sir Blue-Blood, like all of the petty 
aristocrats in the Dominion of Canada who possess 
the exclusive right to fish in these northern woods 
(given them by the government, in consideration 
of their influence at elections), will not tolerate 
persons of the “ vulgar herd ” to angle in any of the 
countless streams on his extensive premises. A 
dog in the manger determination is that, for so 


90 


THE MAKING OF A MILLIONAIRE. 


numerous are they that many of them are never 
touched even in years. 

Chief Clerk Dupont ran up one Saturday after- 
noon to get me to sign some important papers, and 
to transact a little other important departmental 
business which I alone could attend to, so he said. 
He brought me a letter from Sybil whom (he play- 
fully told me) he had been taking care of for me 
by taking her driving and rowing often, and to the 
theatre not infrequently. I intrusted to him for 
delivery to Sybil a letter I wrote her telling her 
how I was enjoying myself and gaining health, 
wishing she were there also, and telling her all 
about Tillie Rich, winding up with this remark 
intended to tease her : 

“ Forgive me then, Sybil, if Tillie lures me into 
eloping with her.” 

Dupont persisted in his determination to return 
to Boodleburg that evening, but Florence and Sir 
Blue-Blood would not allow him to do so, and not 
only induced him to remain to dinner but to form 
part of a fishing party on the next day, which was 
Sunday. Sir Blue-Blood did not usually approve 
of Sunday parties, but as Dupont insisted he must 
return to his desk in Boodleburg by Monday morn- 
ing, the fishing party pleased all those concerned. 
It was agreed that Sir Blue-Blood, Dupont, Clar- 
ence, the girls and I, should go four or five miles up 
a stream which was quite a little river as it passed 
through the estate, but which was only a small 
rocky, quick brook further up. Making calcula- 


THE MAKING OF A MILLIONAIRE. 9I 

tions to be gone until about dark, we took our 
lunch baskets, and Clarence and I wearing our 
rubber boots, we jumped into the yellow dog-cart 
and drove to the spot where operations began. 
The halting place was at a point where a two-foot 
fall in the brook gave it at once a pretty subject 
for a sketch, and a poetical sound to the ear. 
Either side of the stream, as far up as one could 
see, maple trees extended their heavily leaved 
boughs, tall and short grass abounded in all direc- 
tions, as did wild flowers of unlimited varieties. 
The brook was probably twenty-five feet wide at 
this point, the rapids or “falls” reached entirely 
across, numerous stones and boulders, big and 
small, jutted along the surface at irregular intervals. 
By the merest accident Florence and Clarence 
drifted off to another spot, and Sir Blue-Blood 
wished to show Dupont a particularly lu'cky place, 
half a mile up a rocky pass, inaccessible to young 
ladies (when their papas are around), so Tillie and 
I were left to ourselves. As is the case with most 
young people when going out with others of the 
opposite sex and same age, ostensibly with a view 
to fishing, not a single member of the four mem- 
bers of the party cared one iota to drop a line. 
Tillie was afraid of the “ measly things ” as she 
termed the worms; as for myself I detested the 
idea of even handling them for a moment. So our 
hooks were dropped into the stream unbaited. 

No fishes seeming disposed to run on the hooks 
we drew in the lines and attached pieces of cold 
ham in lieu of worms. Within ten feet of the bank 


92 


THi: MAKING OF A MILLIONAIRE. 


on which Tillie and I stood, was a flat stone three 
by four feet, some inches above the water line, and 
it seemed impossible for Tillie to be happy without 
fishing from that rock ; so lifting her up in my arms 
I waded out to it and deposited her upon the im- 
pediment. After adjusting her rod and line, I re- 
turned to the bank. Laying flat on my chest in 
the grass I angled in silence. Tillie’s back was half 
turned to me, giving me opportunity to scrutinize 
her closely without her knowing I was gazing so 
long at her. 

Her figure was prettier than ever, her rubber 
boots and short dress became her well. Absorbed 
interest in the performance around her hook of a 
little trout gave more glow to her cheeks ; her 
smile was charming; her whole body so coquettish 
that I was on the point of flinging aside my line, 
leaping onto the rock, throwing my arms around 
Tillie, and kissing her warmly on the lips, when 
the little fellow at my elbow whispered, “ Remem- 
ber your promise to Sybil, to be hers and only 
hers; to be forever true to her.” 

I felt more like choking the saucy little imp but 
the angelic form of Sybil rose up more vividly be- 
fore my imagination ; her face wore a trusting 
look, her eyes were laden with love. How musical 
the voice, which I could hear murmur in my fancy: 
“To me, Philip, forever true.” 

Without much care or trouble on our part, for 
the stream was just swarming with fish, Tillie and 
I caught two dozen or more trout, pickerel, bass, 
and perch, by the time that Florence and the 


THE MAKING OF A MILLIONAIRE. 


93 


others returned to where Hiey had left us. They 
were laden with fish. Sir Blue-Blood’s watch showed 
four o’clock ; so preparations began for the home- 
ward trip. The fishing-tackle, lunch-baskets, and 
the day’s catches were deposited in the box of the 
dog-cart, and as the air was depressingly hot, it was 
decided that Florence, Tillie, Clarence and I should 
walk home, cutting through the cool groves and 
meandering along the shaded banks of the stream, 
while Dupont and Sir Blue-Blood should drive back 
in the cart. We had not walked for more th in three 
miles, when Clarence and his fiancee soon (acci- 
dentally, of course,) separated from us again, and 
Tillie and I walked by ourselves. We had not 
walked for more than an hour before large, black 
rain-clouds had gathered around the peak of the 
hill which lay between us and the castle. Had we 
attempted to reach home even by running the 
whole way we would have been thoroughly 
drenched. 

Sir Blue-Blood, in true nobleman fashion, had 
some years previously caused to be built, on a 
sequestered part of the estate, a large stone vault 
in which the Riches were to be buried thereafter 
for centuries. The doorway to this dead-house 
was four feet thick, and the massive oaken door 
swung on huge iron hinges half way through the 
doorway, leaving a niche of about two feet in 
depth. As this structure was within probably one 
quarter of a mile of the place at which we stood, 
Tillie suggested that we make our way thither and 
remain in shelter of the doorway until the storm 


94 


THE MAKING OF A MILLIONAIRE, 


was over. Hardly had we reached the tomb when 
the rain descended suddenly in torrents. I had 
no watch with me but the storm must have lasted 
a full hour, and when it was over we straightened 
up for a run home. 

Three trails met near the Blue-Blood vault. 
One of these trails we had taken from the fishing- 
ground, and it led directly to Sir Blue-Blood’s 
castle, Tillie said, while the other led to the hunt- 
ing-grounds of the Algonquin Indians, some twenty 
miles away. We had taken, as we thought, the 
trail home, and had walked for eight or ten miles, 
when we began to suspect we had taken the wrong 
direction. The disappointment so discouraged 
Tillie that she sank down unable to walk another 
step. I tried to cheer her up, but I was really 
much frightened myself, and did not know what in 
the world was my best move. It was now long 
after eight o’clock, and the August twilight was 
fast deepening into night, and as far as I could cal- 
culate we must be at least twenty miles away from 
the castle. Taking off my coat I spread it upon a 
log for Tillie to sit upon, and climbed a tree in 
the hopes of seeing some familiar object. But it 
was trees, trees, and nothing but trees, in all direc- 
tions. I slipped to the ground again, and after 
consulting with Tillie, set up a “ Hello ” as loud as 
I could yell. I did this several times within fif- 
teen or twenty minutes’ intervals, and I jumped 
for gladness when about half-past nine o’clock I 
heard a human voice shout apparently in response. 
I immediately called out several time5 in succe5. 


THE MAKING OF A MILLIONAIRE. 95 

sion, and soon I heard someone treading the trail 
from the direction of the Algonquin territory. It 
turned out to be one of the Indians who were 
poaching on Sir Blue-Blood’s estate, but with the 
help of the little French I could command, I made 
the man understand who we were, and that we had 
lost our way, and would pay him if he would get 
us a horse or two to take us home. The man said 
he had one pony near by, and he would go and 
fetch that. Tillie advised me to be careful with 
the Algonquins as they were constitutional enemies 
of the English, who were really encroaching upon 
their territory, and particular enemies of Sir Blue- 
Blood’s, since he had caught one of their members 
poaching on his estate some years before and had 
him strung up on a tall tree as a warning to others, 
when one of the keepers had first shot him. How- 
ever, we could never have gotten out of our box 
without the Indian’s assistance, and I had my re- 
volver handy in case I thought everything was not 
above board. 

The Indian soon returned with the pony, and 
making a saddle of my coat Tillie was put astride. 
To my surprise the Indian started in what I now 
knew must be the direction of the Algonquin 
territory, but when I pulled out my revolver, and 
the silver barrel gleamed as the now risen moon’s 
rays struck it as I levelled it at the Indian’s head, 
he calmly explained to me in broken English and 
French, that a cross path further up the trail cut 
directly through to Sir Blue-Blood’s castle. This 
reassured me greatly, so glad was I at the pros. 


96 THE MAKING OF A MILLIONAIRE. 

pect of getting back soon ; but this reassurance cost 
me dearly, for we had not proceeded very far before 



I was struck from the rear and the revolver snatched 
from my fingers. I was compelled to submit so 
paralyzed was I with astonishment. I was quickly 
bound hands and feet, and my mouth stuffed with 
leaves. I could offer no resistance when the quickly 
collected crowd of howling Indians tied me to 
another pony while I heard Tillie shriek in the 
seeming distance. How far they took us I could 
not then guess, for soon I was unconscious from 
suffocation 

A cool breeze playing upon my forehead roused 
me from unpleasant dreams about four o’clock the 
next morning. My hands were still tied to my 
gides, and my bound feet were fastened to a stake 


THE MAKING OF A MILLIONAIRE. 


97 


driven into the ground. A rope around my waist 
was fastened to two staples and prevented my sit- 
ting up, but the leaves had been removed from my 
mouth. 

Though my neck was stiff I could turn my head, 
and there on the other side of the small bark tent 
was Tillie lying on a buffalo skin, sleeping, but 
breathing heavily, with now and then a faint 
scream of terror as though she were dreaming over 
the events of the previous night. Her hands too 
were tied to her sides, and her bound feet were 
fastened to a staple. 

A man came in about six o’clock and shaking 
Tillie awake gave us meal and milk and jerked 
venison. He was not a full-blooded Indian, but 
was what is called in Canada “ Half Breed,” — the 
offspring of an Indian and a French white person. 
He could speak French quite well, and I soon 
learned that he was none other than the famous 
Louis Riel, who subsequently stirred up all the 
Indians of Canada and was hanged by the govern- 
ment in reward for his trouble. 

Riel was a talkative fellow, and he told me he 
was not prohibited from telling me that the Indians 
had captured us during their hunting season, 
which would end in about two weeks. We were 
to be kept prisoners in this tent until the end of 
the hunting, when we were to be taken to their 
permanent camp seventy-five miles away, where I 
was to be boiled alive, or else be compelled to eat 
myself inch by inch, beginning with my hands. 


98 


THE MAKING OF A MILLIONAIRE. 


and that the girl was to have similiar treatment 
later on. 

I asked him if it would not be a foolish thing 
for them to do, to murder us so when we had done 
them no harm, but Riel jumped at once and shrieked 
in French. “ Done us no harm, eh ? who was it 
that shot and hanged our brave chief Logan, who 
did no other harm than hunt upon his own terri- 
tory ?” 

This silenced me for the day, but when Riel 
brought us food the next day, I reminded him that 
we were of good and influential family, and when 
the government heard of our murder they would 
be sure to send soldiers and exterminate them 
all. But Riel only laughed at this, and said : 
“ We only wish they would ; no soldiers would 
return to tell the news of the way the Algonquins 
treated them. But you are absurd. The Algon- 
quins are little known to the government, and this 
part of Canada has not yet been surveyed, so that 
even if the government could find us, they would 
have no evidence against us that w^e had seen or 
heard anything of you.” 

I learned from Riel that w^e had been captured 
nearly thirty miles from the castle, and that we 
were more than seventy miles from it now. 

Failing to gain any vantage by intimidation, the 
next day I told Riel how wealthy our people Avere 
and what a large sum they would gladly pay for 
our ransom. But Riel only sneered coldly as he 
said: “You do not know how you insult the 
Algonquin by §uch a proposition as you make. 


THE MAKING OF A MILLIONAIRE. 


99 


Gold may be the highest object of the English. It 
is dearer to them than beauty, love, honor, justice, 
life. But Algonquin spirit is not like that. An 
Algonquin looks first for honor, next for vengeance, 
then for justice. You have snatched from us our 
lands, you have kicked us about on every hand. 
But the day will come when the Red Man’s spirit 
shall rise once more, and not one white English 
will be left in Canada.” And then Riel’s face 
glowed and he stood upright, and his chest heaved 
out and his lip curled to a sneer. Whatever may 
have since been done by Riel, not one who knew 
him personally can doubt for a moment that 
although a fanatic he was a true patriot and a 
manly man. 

Riel had become so fierce by this time that I 
thought it best not to speak further of my release 
just yet ; for although Tillie cried most of the 
time, and appearances seemed certainly against us, 
I did not have the instinctive feeling that death 
was so near at hand. 

And neither was it. On the fifth morning of 
our incarceration I was awakened not by the usual 
cool breeze upon my forehead but by a rough sub- 
stance licking my forehead. I was dreaming that 
the tent had taken fire and that the fire had 
reached my hair, and awakening with a start found 
Tillie’s greyhound, Fan, licking my forehead with 
her tongue, and wagging her tail like lightning. 
Tillie was awake by this time and cried for joy, to 
see the hound had found us out. Fan began to 
bark for gladness, but fearing the Indians should 


I 


100 THE MAKING OF A MILLIONAIRE. 

suspect something, I told Tillie to order her to be 
quiet, and half an hour before Riel came with our 
breakfast Fan was started home again 

Clarence had reached the castle thoroughly 
drenched on that Sunday evening, and thinking 
that Tillie and myself had probably found shelter 
somewhere, no uneasiness was felt for us, and Du- 
pont went back to Boodleburg on the eight o’clock 
express. But when we had not returned by eleven 
o’clock, servants were sent in all directions, and 
Sir Blue-Blood and Clarence drove back to the brook 
in the dog-cart and called out our names several 
times. The darkness forced the search to be given 
up for the night, only to be continued the follow- 
ing days with renewed vigor. 

There were no estates further north than Sir 
Blue-Blood’s, the others being to the south. All 
the neighborhood having been visited, and the 
woods thoroughly searched, but no trace having 
been discovered of the missing couple, except a 
glove of Tillie’s found by a servant near the brook, 
the idea of examining the little river was sug- 
gested. This was at first considered absurd, but 
at length was determined upon, and when the 
glove of Tillie’s was found near the banks, many 
of the servants felt dubious. 

But Sir Blue-Blood did not look at it in that light. 
He did not know I was engaged to Sybil Yessex and 
as I had been paying much attention to Tillie, he 
winked to himself, and thought he had the solu- 
tion of the disappearance. He resolved indeed 
that Tillie and I had eloped, but could not im- 


THE MAKING OF A MILLIONAIRE. 


lOI 


agine why we had chosen not to tell him of our 
love for each other, as he would have had no ob- 
jection to our marriage, inasmuch as he was only a 
Knight of the Bath while Sir John Alexander was 
a baronet. Accordingly he telegraphed to Dupont 
in Boodleburg. 

“'Tillie and Daniels missing since you left. 
Maybe the)^ have eloped. Send them back if you 
can find them, and all will be well.’' 

When Fan came tearing up the front drive to 
the castle her antics were not at first understood, 
but when a keeper was called to take her away, it 
dawned upon Florence that the hound might have 
news 

In the middle of the eighth day of our deten- 
tion, Fan came galloping into the Indian camp and 
in a few minutes all was consternation. The 
horses were soon gathered, the bark tents fired, 
and the shouting soon died away to the north. 

The yelping of the dogs broke upon our ears, 
the tramplings of the horses were welcome sounds, 
and the loud helloes of many voices signalled the 
advent of our friends. Our bonds were cut and 
the party rested, too fatigued from the distance 
they had already ridden to gallop in pursuit of the 
flying Indians 

When we reached the castle after our kidnap- 
ping experience, I found two letters from Sybil 
reproaching me for not writing to her as I was ac- 
customed to do heretofore every day. 


105 


THE MAKING OF A MILLIONAIRE. 


I immediately dispatched a telegram to her, ex- 
plaining my seeming negligence, and telling her I 
would write her that very day, and, although I was 
to remain but three days longer, I promised to 
write her a long letter every day. And this I did. 


THE MAKING OF A MILLIONAIRE. 


103" 


CHAPTER TENTH. 

I MAKE AN INTERESTING DISCOVERY. 

A GRAND ball was to wind up our visit to Sir 
Blue-Blood’s, and though arranged for some time 
before, was to be particularly jolly to celebrate the 
return of Tillie. Thanks to the abundance of out- 
door exercise that Tillie was accustomed to take, 
and the unsurpassably invigorating climate of 
Canada, Tillie had a constitution of iron, and be- 
yond a cold and a little stiffness, was almost as well 
as though she had been at home every night, and 
not sleeping in a birch-bark tent in the forest. 

People within a radius of fifteen miles had been 
invited to this ball, and over a hundred persons 
were expected to be present. Clarence and I had 
played tennis all the morning, so that after luncheon 
I w'as so tired and the atmosphere so warm indoors, 
that I strolled through the flower-garden and into 
a place which Tillie styled her bower. 

This was a little grotto made by the cutting and 
interweaving of half a dozen little willow trees, and 
was entered by a small aperture not viewable from 
the pathway which passed near by. 

The floor, was covered by a thick Turkish rug 
measuring possibly eight or ten feet, and some 
soft pillows were strewn about in oriental fashion, 
while the zephyrs had free access to the bower and 


104 


THE MAKING OF A MILLIONAIRE. 


consequently kept it uniformly cool, as the sun 
could not penetrate its walls. The gardens were 
so extensive and the trees so naturally arranged, 
that no one would ever have suspected the existence 
of Tillie’s secluded summer-house. 

Just outside the entrance, and with its back fac- 
ing the entrance, was a long rustic seat placed there 
to help screen the doorway to the woodland room 
Passing by the bench I entered the bower, and 
stretching myself among the pillows the gentle 
breezes stealing through the leaves into the room 
soon lulled me into a drowsy slumber. The sound 
of the coarse voice of some one sitting on the 
bench outside awakened me : “ You love that 

black one with all your heart. You’ll never love 
another person as much and that fellow just dotes 
on ye. This line here ain’t plain enough forme to 
tell ye you’ll ever get hitched to him ; but if you 
do you will have twelve children, ten of them 
girls.” 

I thought best not to hear any more and to feign 
sleep if anybody should come in. Much was my 
surprise when I heard the voice of Tillie : 

“ Thank you, old Meg, take this dollar. If what 
you say should prove true, return to me and I will 
give you five more.” 

With many thanks and blessings I could hear 
some one hobble down the pathway. Tapping the 
bench with her closed hand each time she uttered 
a word, Tillie repeated over and over again the 
words of the gypsy fortune-teller : 

“‘You love that man with all your heart.’ Aye, 


THE MAICING OF A MILLIONAIRE. 10^ 


true, true, true. But is it true that he does not 
care a particle for me ?” 

Then she sobbed 

Half an hour elapsed before Tillie went away to 
the house, which she did without coming into the 
bower. This place was known only to three per- 
sons Tillie had told me. These were herself, my- 
self and the gardener who had arranged it at Tillie’s 
direction 

Attired in a lavender empire gown, with the dia- 
mond star of her father in her hair, and w^earing no 
other jewels, Tillie was the queen of the evening. 

Excepting one schottische with Florence, I danced 
with no one but Tillie that night. Out of the eigh- 
teen- numbers on her dance program, thirteen 
times were my initials written on her engagement 
card. This of course was rude, but a fact, never- 
theless. ' 

Supper was over and the regular dance program 
finished, but the company kept on dancing extras, 
while I sat with Tillie on a divan in one of the 
dimly-lighted recesses of one of the conservatory 
windows. Tillie never looked better than she did 
that night. Her cheeks w'ere aglow with the ex- 
citement of dancing, and her pulse throbbed quickly 
as I held her hand. 

I had supposed that Tillie knew that I was en- 
gaged to be married. True, I never thought it 
necessary to mention the coming event to her, for 
the wedding w^as to be of the most quiet and simple 
character, and only Sybil’s father and my family, 
with Clarence and the two principals, were supposed 


lo6 THE MAKING OF A MILLIONAIRE. 


to know of the marriage, until after it had actually 
taken place, and we had gone abroad. But then I 
presumed that Clarence had told Florence as a se- 
cret, and that she had asked Tillie to help her 
keep it. 

But Tillie looked so thrillingly beautiful that I 
found myself saying : 

“Tillie,! cannot help falling in love with you 

to-night, your ” There Tillie let her head fall on 

her bosom, but she did not withdraw her hand. 
“Your eyes are so lovely, and your hair such a 
dream, that I cannot help loving you.” Here Tillie 
squeezed my hand. “Your whole air so reminds 
me of my own Sybil.” 

“ Sybil !” said Tillie, with a sudden start, 
“ who’s Sybil 

“ Why, don’t you know ?” I exclaimed in genu- 
ine alarm. “ Why, don’t you know ? Hasn’t Flor- 
ence told you ? Why, Sybil Yessex, the girl I am 
to be married to in two weeks.” 


THE MAKING OF A MILLIONAIRE. 


107 


ELEVENTH PORTION. 

SYBIL MYSTERIOUSLY DISAPPEARS. 

Sir Blue-Blood and Florence drove to the 
railway station with Clarence and me next day, 
which was Tuesday. Tillie had sent regrets that a 
severe headache kept her to her apartments, but 
that she wished us a pleasant trip. I well knew 
the embarrassment Tillie wished to avoid by not 
bidding us a personal good-bye, but I bit my lips 
and said nothing. 

In the train homeward I asked Clarence : “ Say, 
old chappie, has Floy dispersed that barefooted 
father notion of yours Perhaps you have for- 
gotten all about it, and didn’t mention anything 
about it to any one T' 

“ My dear fellow,” replied Clarence, “ I’ve had the 
most pleasant time of my life. I love Floy more 
than ever, but,” he continued, all seriousness, “the 
voice of God grows louder and louder each day, 
and I feel I will have no peace until I have forever 
left the world behind me.” 

“ Well then, Clarence, you old fool,” I said 
tauntingly, “ just as soon as you join the capuchins 
I will take the vows of a missionary to the poor 
heathen Chinese.” 

It was nine P. M. when we arrived at the Union 
Depot in Boodleburg. Ordering an expressman to 


108 THE xMAICING OF A MiLLIONAtRE. 


.take our baggage, we boarded an electric car, and 
late as it was I rode to the end of the line, and 
walked to the residence of Sybil, just to see my 
darling a minute, for a strange yearning for the 
sight of her was strong upon me. 

The bell was answered by old Warren himself, 
and seeing who I was, he burst out excitedly : 

“ Great God, Philip, have you seen Sybil ?” 

His hair was whiter than when I had last seen 
him, his eyes were sunken, and his countenance 
had the appearance of his not having slept for 
many consecutive nights previously. In astonish- 
ment at his peculiarly toned question, I said I had 
not. 

“ God help me, then,” he said resignedly, “ as a 
last resource I thought she had gone up the country 
to meet you !” Then he sobbed most piteously. 

Between his sobs he managed to tell me that 
Sybil had driven away from home on Friday after- 
noon to visit a sick friend in Hull, just across the 
river from Boodleburg. The carriage had returned 
later with a note from Sybil to her father, that 
Bertha Harmon was worse than she had imagined 
and that she would remain with her all night. It 
was not unusual in Canada for girl friends to re- 
main at each other’s house over night to keep com- 
pany with their sick friend, so there was nothing 
surprising in Sybil’s conduct. Saturday evening 
Sybil had not returned from her friend’s, but as 
Parliament had an extra and stormy session that 
night in a debate over tariff matters, it was long 
after twelve o’clock when Mr. Yessex returned 


THE MAKING OF A MILLIONAIRE. 


109 


home. His party had lost the measure it was 
advocating, and this put Mr. Yessex in such an 
annoyed temper he did not think to ask for Sybil, 
taking it for granted that she was home long before 
this time. 

When Mr. Yessex came down to breakfast on 
Sunday morning he was angry to find that not only 
Sybil had not returned, but she had sent no excuse 
for remaining away so long. He immediately sent 
the carriage with a note to Sybil reprimanding her 
for not communicating with him, and ordering her 
home at once. 

The coachman returned two hours later with a 
message from Miss Harmon that Sybil had left the 
Harmon home at four o’clock on Friday, and that 
she had escorted Sybil on board a street car. 

Servants were immediately sent to visit every 
family in town where Sybil might be stopping, with 
orders that they 3hould keep the matter entirely 
secret. By Sunday night every town relative had 
been called on, but none had seen Sybil since the 
previous Friday. 

The search was continued with more vigor the 
next day, and every friend of the Yessex’s in the 
country near by was in turn visited by the ser- 
vants or by Yessex himself. Mr. Yessex was a 
man of retired tastes, and not wishing any unnec- 
essary publicity, had not asked any assistance from 
the police or newspapers toward the tracing of 
Sybil, but on Tuesday morning he awakened to the 
fact that the police would have to be called in, and 


no THE MAKING OF A MILLIONAIRE. 

then he regretted that he had not sought their aid 
before. 

Sir Blue-Blood’s estate was twenty miles from 
the nearest telegraph office in those days, and the 
message which Mr. Yessex dispatched to me did 
not reach Sir Blue-Blood’s until long after I had 
reached Boodleburg. 

All day long the poor old man had roamed 
about the house, crying for his daughter’s return. 
The newspapers made the most of the affair, and 
that evening (being the same on which I had re- 
turned from Sir Blue-Blood’s) old Warren handed 
me the “ Press ” which had come out with the fol- 
lowing headlines : 

BOLD ABDUCTION. 


Sybil Yessex Missing Since Friday. 


NO CLUE TO HER WHEREABOUTS 


Went Shopping in Ross’s and has not since been heard of. 


LEFT HER DIAMONDS BEHIND. 


Not Reported Promptly to the Police. 


Then followed a long triple-leaded account of 


THE MAKING OF A MILLIONAIRE. 


1 1 r 

the disappearance ; how her clothing had not been 
taken ; her jewelry was in her casket at home ; she 
had her pocket-book with her, but only fifty dol- 
lars in bills in it. The article wound up with the 
question : 

Had not some enterprising people tried the 
brigand act, were detaining her, and would priv- 
ately offer to Warren Yessex to return the daughter 
for a large sum of money, provided nothing would 
be done to prosecute the speculators ?” 

Speechless with rage, and vowmg to leave no 
stone unturned to discover Sybil, and swearing 
vengeance on the heads of her detainers, I bade 
good-bye to Warren, and wended my steps in the 
direction ot home. As the family had retired for 
the night, I went directly to my study, to attempt 
to drown my troubles with smoke from an old pipe 
and a flask of brandy. 

Some unopened letters lay upon my desk. In- 
stantly the thought dawned upon my brain that the 
abductors had written to me, hoping that my solici- 
tude for Sybil would perhaps induce me to urge 
her father to pay any ransom demanded. Except- 
ing one, the envelopes were written in uninviting 
chirographics ; but that one— bearing an Ogdens- 
burg, N. Y., postmark, with a United States stamp, 
— was in the well-known handwriting of Sybil. 
“ The infamous fellows have compelled her to 
write to me herself, praying me to bring about her 
release, through old Warren,” I thought, while 


THE MAKING OF A MILLIONAIRE. 


1 12 

with nervous fingers. I tore the envelope. It 
seemed odd that the paper and envelope were of 
the same quality as that upon which Sybil had 
written her letters at home. Odder still did it 
seem to me that the note should be dated Yessex 
Cottage,” Boodleburg, August 3rd. . . ., but the 
oddest feature of it all, and the most astounding 
was the letter itself. 

“ Dea'^ Mr. Daniels, — 

“It is with a sickness of heart too great for 
description, that I am forced to believe your infi- 
delity to me. Your friend* Mr. Dupont, has been 
to Sir Blue-Blood’s estate, and with his own eyes 
has witnessed your untrue (to me) behavior with 
Miss Rich. He has handed me your strange note, 
without address and without date, but signed with 
your own name, telling me to forgive, you if you 
should elope with Miss Rich. I could never have 
believed what Mr. Dupont told me if I did not my- 
self see a telegram from Sir Blue-Blood, which con- 
veyed the black news that you had indeed eloped. 

“ You have broken my heart, Philip. But I for- 
give you. We were both young, and I know you 
have never loved me, and no doubt it was all my 
own fault. 

“ Mr. Dupont has been so kind to me, so good 
all the while, and particularly when he saw my dis- 
tress to learn of your unfaithful conduct. I can 
never love anybody after you, but I have consented 
to run away with him, and marry him in order that 


THE MAKING OF A MILLIONAIRE. II3 

he may protect me from the criticisms of the 
world. 

“ Ever Your Sincere Friend, 

“ Sybil Yessex. 

P. S. — Please do not for the sake of our old 
love tell anybody of our whereabouts. We will 
remain in the United States and work hard until 
father forgives u^and takes us into his home. As 
I do not wish Mr. Dupont to know I have com- 
municated with anybody (he having urgently re- 
quested me not to do so), I write this before I leave 
home, but will not post until we are far away. I 
hope you will get this note some time, and be happy 
with Miss Rich. 

Yours, Sybil.” 

So this was the meaning and outcome of Du- 
pont’s hovering around Sybil during my absence. 
Curse his cunning sneaking way. What an infam- 
ous liar and misrepresentative ! Oh, Sybil ! how 

could you have been so deluded? 

Such were the ejaculations that kept me in my 
chair all night. Verily if I could have laid my 
hands on that man I felt I had the strength to 
pluck out his tongue and his eyes, and with my 
heel crush his whole body into a jelly 


1 14 THE MAKliNG OF A MILLIONAIRE. 


TWELFTH PART. 

CLARENCE BECOMES A BAREFOOTED FATHER. 

The elopement of Sybil with its consequent ex- 
citement and my brooding over it, brought upon 
me a violent fever. When three months afterwards 
I drove home from the nun’s hospital, I had forgot- 
ten about the sad occurrence. All SybiPs letters, 
her photos, and everything which could remind 
me of her had been removed from mystudy during 
my illness. When the memory did, by slow de- 
grees, return to my mind, it appeared to me to be 
but a long ago dream or story I had read.^ 

I had been absent from my office now more than 
four months. When I returned to my desk to 
take upon me once more the many -cares of office, 
a new clerk occupied the table at which Clarence 
formerly sat. Asking one of the other employes 
if Clarence were ill, he sarcastically remarked : “ If 
you mean ill, bodily, the answer is. No ; but if you 
wish to ask me if he is mentally ill, I most decid- 
edly answer ‘Yes.’ ” 

Clarence had entered the folds of the Roman 
Church and was now a monk of the Capuchin 
Order. 

As my cousin. Sir John, had unlimited influence 
Jn the Roman Catholic Church, His Graciousness 


THE MAKING OF A MILLIONAIRE. I15 

the Archbishop of Boodleburg granted me a per- 
mit to see Clarence and to visit the Capuchin 
monastery. 

This was a stone structure, low-roofed, built 
after the fashion of the retreats of the continental 
monks of the Middle Ages. Its extensive garden 
was surrounded by a high stone fence crowned by 
a tall iron railing, and the building itself was set 
down in the centre of this garden. There was but 
one story to this monastery, exclusive of the few 
towers placed here and there, as though by acci- 
dent. The front part of the building was divided 
off into large rooms, used as chapel, recreation- 
room, reception-room, dining-room and kitchen ; 
and the back half of the building was divided into 
cells, which were arranged around the thr( e walls. 
All these cells had their entrances facing the back 
half, forming thus three sides to a hollow square, 
the fourth side of which was formed by the wall 
separating the front side of the building from the 
rear one. This hollow square was used as a prom- 
enade by the monks during certain prayers which 
required them to walk. 

The cell belonging to Clarence was about ten 
feet by twelve. It had a window one foot by one 
and a half feet in diameter. The walls were simply 
rough stones rudely mortared together ; the earth 
formed the floor; and upon two logs of maple, 
placed parallel to each other with six or seven 
feet intervening and at right angles to the further 
wall, were laid three two-inch planks. This w^s 
Clarence Dewdney’s becif 


Il6 THE MAKING OF A MILLIONAIRE. 

Each morning he arose at four o’clock, ducked 
his head carelessly into a tin basinful of cold 
water, threw around him a loose but very heavy 
cloak with a kind of hood fastened to the back. 
On his stockingless feet he tied soles of shoes with- 
out any uppers. No hat was allowed to be worn 
at any time by any of these monks, and the hair 
was shaved off the head leaving it bare except for 
a circle of hair one inch in width and having the 
circumference of an ordinary saucer with the top 
of the skull for a centre. In this way a crown of 
hair was made and worn by the monks in com- 
memoration of the crown of thorns placed upon 
the head of Jesus Christ. 

Around his waist Clarence tied a rough cord 
and allowed the ends, about a foot long each, to 
dangle down at his right side. Making inquiry oS 
to what the object might be in wearing this rope, 
I was told by Clarence that should the devil come 
to any monk and tempt him to be distracted dur- 
ing prayer, this cord would be used to drive his 
majesty back to hell. In response to another 
question of mine, Clarence assured me solemnly 
that he had not yet had occasion to use it in that 
way. 

“ Did you know of any of the other monks ever 
having used it for that purpose ?” I persisted. 

“By Jove, Philip, I have really known person- 
ally of no one having to use ‘ the cord ’ for that 
purpose, but I have been told by the monks about 
many having used it effectually in former times in 
driving Lucifer away from them. Our noble 


THE MAKING OF A MILLIONAIRE. 11/ 

founder, St. Brain Less of Cranks, had been sent 
one day in his youth by his father to bring a horse 
to graze in a near by field. The only halter was a 
plain rope. Brain Less believed in irrrproving time 
rather than in killing it, so having placed his 
father’s horse in the field he fell on his knees with 
his eyes extended heavenward and began to pray 
fervently to the Holy Virgin for his father who 
would not go to mass on Sundays. The devil had 
kept close watch of young Brain Less, and fearing 
his prayers might be answered by God should 
Brain Less continue to pray so earnestly, he 
whispered into the youth’s ear that a tree not 
far away was stocked with nice green apples (for 
his Satanic Majesty knew a thing or two about 
boys). But Brain Less took no heed and prayed 
harder. 

“ Then the devil got a good baseball, and began 
throwing it up in the air within range of the boy’s 
eyes hoping to engage the young saint by this al- 
lurement. But Brain Less took no heed but 
prayed harder still. 

“The devil next procured a package of fire- 
crackers and set fire to them within ten feet of the 
praying youth. But Brain Less took no heed but 
prayed harder than ever. 

“As a last resource Lucifer brought half-a-dozen 
little monkeys and a hand-organ into the field, and 
had them jump upon each other’s shoulders, and 
cut all sorts of funny capers to the music of the 
herald of Spring. Brain Less could hold out no 


Il8 THE MAICINO OF A MILLIONAIRE. 

longer. He smiled faintly, and all Hell was there- 
by made jolly. 

“ But the young saint repented instantly of his 
misconduct. Snatching up the rope-halter he 
‘ gave the devil his due ’ in the shape of a sound 
licking with the rope, murmuring prayers all the 
time, so that Lucifer ran off to Hell giving vent to 
the most miserable shrieks. It is, on this account 
that the members of the Brain Less order wear 
the rope around the waist.” 

[This story was actually narrated to me by a 
monk of the Capuchin order, and the monk be- 
lieved what he told was true.] 

To pay up to God for the sins of the world, was 
the object in view when the Brain Lessites were 
instituted. As the world is such a sinful organiza- 
tion, the monks were not allowed to perform any of 
most of the acts that the world generally performs. 
Thus the world works and gets money to buy its 
bread ; but the Brain Lessites are not tolerated by 
their vows to do such a worldly thing as work. 
They must pray for the world and beg from the 
world the means of sustaining their prayerful lives. 
Accordingly the monks take turns to go out and 
beg every day, while the others remain at home to 
pray. 

It is a common sight in the poorer Roman 
Catholic districts of Boodleburg, where the houses 
are all two-story wooden affairs, to see a tall, well- 
built, and beautifully-proportioned man walking 
slowly along the antiquated side-walk, his head and 
feet bare, a roomy brown robe thrown about his 


THE MAKING OF A MILLIONAIRE. II9 

body and his waist bound with a rope. One hand 
grasps a wooden rosary, on which he murmurs his 
“ Hail Mary’s ” and “ Glory be to God’s,” and the 
other hand holds the throat of a dirty white cotton 
bag, which thrown over his left shoulder hangs down 
to the middle of his broad back. He stops before 
a low wooden gateway, in the half-broken-down 
fence,- and glides along the short pathway to the 
squalid house, its front door ajar, and the sque ak- 
ing baby rolling upon the uncarpeted floor of the 
pigeon-hole “ parlor.” Loudly he strikes the case- 
ment with his knuckles (for of bell or knocker the 
door is innocent), and perhaps in fifteen minutes 
a dirty woman comes tumbling along the hallway, 
who on beholding the monk flops down on her 
right knee immediately. The monk makes the 
sign of tb , cross over the kneeling woman and 
says : “ Rise up, my child, and God bless you.” 
Then he asks her for the widow’s mite for “ God’s 
own children,” and she runs away to the rear and 
returns with a half loaf of bread and a few raw^ 
potatoes, and these she dumps into the priest’s 
cotton bag, which now contains every kind of un- 
cooked food from a pint of peas to a gallon of 
flour or onions, sometimes wrapped up in separ- 
ate parcels of paper, but oftener thrown in and 
mixed up together. The squeaking baby, the chil- 
dren returning from school (or more often from 
“ hookey,” which they have been playing in the 
neighboring woods), or even^the head of the house 
himself may come home in the evening hungry for 
this half loaf of bread, but never a word of annoy- 


120 


THE MAKING OF A MILLIONAIRE. 


ance or complaint will one of them utter when 
they learn from the mother that the bread is gone 
to one of the barefooted fathers. 

The rules of the order compel each of the 
monks to dig his own grave. This being the case 
every monk is assigned his own particular isolated 
spot in the gardens where, marking off a section 
three feet by ten feet, he digs out from his assigned 
grave a shovelful everyday of his life in the order* 
Should a monk have his grave dug out before he 
dies he fills it in again and starts off anew. In 
case the grave is not fully excavated by time the 
monk dies, his brothers complete it for him. Then 
the deceased brother is tumbled therein without 
coffin or sheet, and only a small wooden cross 
marks the spot. What time is not occupied in 
sleeping, eating, begging, digging, and praying, is 
passed in tying and untying knots in the cord 
which each monk wears around his waist. Clar. 
ence told 'me in conclusion that this is done in or- 
der that a monk’s thoughts may be kept from the 
temptations of the world, the flesh and the devil. 

And the people who support these professional 
beggars are cognizant of all these facts, are fully 
aware of the manner in which they utilize that 
priceless thing — TIME ! 

Asking Clarence to tell me seriously, if he en- 
joyed that kind of life, and if he intended to re- 
main, he replied : 

‘‘ Well, I can’t say that I enjoy it, Philip ; but 
then, by Jove, I feel that it is my vocation, and as 
St. Augustine says, ‘ A man can’t live outside of 


THE MAKING OF A MILLIONAIRE. 


121 


the place to which God calls liim any better than a 
fish can live on dry land When I reflect what a 
dreadful thing it would be to go to Hell forever — 
mark you, forever — I say to God, ‘ Thy will be 
done. Oh Lord, not mine.’ ” 

I left him to his happiness. 


122 


THE MAKING OF A MILLIONAIRE. 


THIRTEENTH STRETCH. 

FLORENCE ENTERS A MONASTERY AND BOODLE- 
BURG BECOMES TOO HOT P'OR ME SOON 
AFTERWARDS. 

I WROTE to Sir Blue-Blood Rich shortly after- 
wards, and after thanking him for his hospitality I 
told him of my visit to the Brain Lessite monastery. 
In his reply Sir Blue-Blood informed me that his 
daugher Florence had become thoroughly imbued 
with the determination of becoming a nun, and 
although he had tried various schemes to drive the 
notion from her mind his efforts were fruitless. 

Accordingly Florence was now a member of the 
a Blue Nun Cloister organization. The principal 
feature of this religous order was that not a single 
word must be spoken by any of the nuns on any 
subject whatever on any day of the year except 
New Year’s Day. (Whew ! how many miles a 
minute would those nuns talk on the first day of 
every year !) The founder of that organization 
knew her business, inasmuch as the aim of the 
order was for the members to suffer agony to pay 
up for the sins of the world. 

In compliance with the regulations of the organiza- 
tion Florence si^rned off all her inheritance in her 
father’s property in favor of the order of which she 
had now become a member, and she also vowed life- 


THE MAKING OF A MILLIONAIRE. 1 23 

long poverty, chastity and obedience. I made an 
unsuccessful attempt to visit this convent. 

All this time I was a regular attendant at the 
Sunday mass. I went to confession and commun- 
ion twice each week, and told my beads twice daily. 
In fact I was such a model young man that one 
day I was appoached by the parish priest, whose 
name was Father Farrel. Said he : 

“ Didn’t it ever occur to you, my child, that God 
Almighty hath chosen you to be a leader among 
his people ? I think that God must have designed 
you to be a priest. Don’t you feel that he hath 
called you to the priesthood, in order that you 
might have opportunity of offering an example to 
the rest of the flock, who seeing you pursuing the 
path of righteousness they may be emulated to do 
likewise ?” 

“Candidly speaking, father,” I replied, “ I don’t 
think I have been called to be a priest. And 
even if I were as good as you say I am, I feel 
that God would esteem it better for me to remain 
a layman, and by associating with the world, elbow 
to elbow, come in close contact with the erring, 
and thus be a shining light to indicate to them the 
errors of their lives. It strikes me that the duty of 
the good is to mingle with the bad and do their 
utmost to help them to a higher plane, rather than 
for the good to shut themelves up from the bad, 
and suffer the latter to sink unassisted to the basest 
sphere. We do not light our electric street 
lamps and then surround them with intransparent 
globes, but we erect them high up over our heads, 


124 THE MAKING OF A MILLIONAIRE. 

SO that their rays may guide the wayfarer along 
the otherwise dark streets. So with you and all 
the monks and nuns,” I continued, growing elo- 
quent to hear myself talk, “ I think that God never 
intended you to keep yourselves penned up where 
your purity and righteousness would have no 
direct influence in benefitting the world at large. 
Knock down all nunneries, abolish all monasteries 
and cloisters, and have the priests live as other 
human beings do, and we wdll have a happier and 
a better world.” 

‘‘ You don’t say so !” exclaimed Father Farrell 
in downright astonishment, pushing on his glasses 
and throwing up his hands in holy terror. “You 
don’t think you ought to be a priest,” with emphasis 
on the first w’ord. “ You don’t think so, but I 
know so. There are millions of poor ignorant 
people in China, Africa, and South America to 
whom we have but a few men to carry the Holy 
Word of God. I tell you again, my dear child, you 
are called to be a priest. Think of the thousands 
of precious souls that might be gathered to the 
Lord by > ou annually. Think what a magnificent 
throne you would thereby wdn for yourself in 
heaven. Our blessed Lord himself has said : 
‘ What will it avail a man if he gain the whole world 
should he suffer the loss of his own soul ?’ Oh, 
my poor misthinking child, reflect twdce before you 
make the rash statement that God has not chosen 
you to be a leader among his people. Consider 
the matter in all its phases, my child ; bear in 
mind the solemn words of St. Augustine : “ A man 


THE MAKING OF A MILLIONAIRE. 


125 


cannot live better outside his vocation than a fish 
can live on dry land.’ Come and see me next 
week, and we’ll talk the matter over.” 

My education all along had brought me to be- 
lieve that a priest was the right hand of God Al- 
mighty himself, and whatsoever he should say 
was necessarily true. Now Father Farrel told me 
I was called to be a priest ; it must be so as he had 
said it. I thought long and deeply. I wondered 
if it were not a crazy God who would ask all the 
good people to shut themselves up in cloisters 
when their influence in business and in the homes 
of the land would tend to purify society in general. 
I asked myself why God should demand of men 
that they should beat themselves until the blood 
came? Why should he compel women to remain 
in church and pray while they sadly neglected the 
home duties ? Why he should compel me to go to 
mass on Sunday or else go to hell when I should 
die, and why he should be offended should we eat 
meat on Friday ? 

I did not go to see Father Farrel the next week. 
Coming across Col. Ingersoll’s manual just then I 
read it through, as I did with all other works of 
similar purport. 

Quite soon I was a full-fledged atheist. I ceased 
going to mass on Sunday. My relatives remarked 
the change in me, of course, for I could not keep 
my thoughts to myself. As often as I possibly 
could do so I would let my friends know that I 
knew “they were blamed fools to believe such 
trash.” 


126 


THE MAKING OF A MILLIONAIRE. 


As our family was high in church and social 
circles the whole town soon talked of that irreverent 
young Daniels, and wondered why on earth my 
people would permit me to think like that. 

Father took me aside one day and said to me, 

“ I don’t give a d n, Philip, what you may think 

is right, but, please keep your sentiments to yourself. 
It doesn’t cost you anything to hold your tongue, 
but if you don’t keep your mouth closed about 
atheism, you’ll have your cousin. Sir John, jump 
on my neck for harboring such an infamous son. 
I’ll lose my position if Sir John withdraws his influ- 
ence in my behalf, and yo.u know perfectly well 
that you’ll lose yours too. Thmk as much as you 
wish, but as you value your governmental position, 
keep your views to yourself.” 

But the more notice people took of me the more 
ardent did I become in arguments for atheism. I 
saw a great future before me. The Avorld would 
bow down in respect before the creator of such 
learned views. I expected to become famous. In- 
gersoll was simply a kind of first edition of me, to 
be followed by grander editions still 

I awoke one morning and found myself, not ex- 
actly famous, but fired from the Civil Service. 
Not only from the Service was I put out, but from 
home as well. A Roman Catholic may tolerate 
the existence of a pagan, and may possibly ac- 
quiesce in granting a Protestant a permit to live, 
but he will not stomach an apostate from his 
church. 

For two or three weeks I wandered around town, 


THE MAKING OF A MILLIONAIRE. 


127 


sleeping in doorways and haylofts, expecting to 
work the prodigal son and fatted calf scheme. 
But I was ignored by everybody. 

Reclining against a barrel in an old shed I sat 
on the ground and re- 
solved I would become 
famous in life, just for 
pure spite, and when I 
should have attained 
wealth I would in turn 
ignore all my old ac- 
quaintances. I had eight 
dollars and seventy-three 
cents in my pocket, be- 
sides my gold watch and 
cnain, valued at seventy- 
five dollars. I was attired 
in a respectable suit of 
clothing which was fash- 
ionable. I had my walking-stick with me, and 
I possessed two pocket-handkerchiefs, a silk one 
and a linen one. I spurned the idea of going 
home for my belongings, so entering the post-office 
I purchased a sheet of paper. With one of the 
three pens lying on the writing-shelf there, I began 
my new career by writing the following paper : 

Boodleburg, Sept. 8, 18 — . 

I, Philip Daniels, for the first time since enlight 
enment, do begin a lubber’s log. (I thought this 
sentence awfully clever.) 

When I reflect to-day upon the cold-shouldered 
appearance of my relatives, how they treat me a§ 



128 


THE MAKING OF A MILLIONAIRE. 


a contemptible being, I cannot but fondly hope 
that my turn must come some day to regard them 
contemptuously with a vengeance. 

Oh, why do I slovenly remain dejected when 
the world presents such attainable positions of 
honor, appreciation, and independence ? Echo 
answers “ Why No, Daniels, it profits a man 
nothing to be despondent ; so shake off your leth- 
argy, your obsequious spirit, and show the world 
what a determination of success may cause a some- 
what obscure and trodden-upon boy to perform. 
’Tis merrier to be first man among paupers than 
second personage in America. So, Advance ! ! ! 


THE MAKING OF A MILLIONAIRE. 


129 


FOURTEENTH PORTION. 

I ENCOUNTER AN OLD ENEMY, AND AM LEFT IN 
A GARRET FOR DEAD. 

EighT-SEVENTY-THREE is a very small amount 
with which to start in life and become the posses- 
sor of millions, but that is all I had. The idea of 
asking relatives for assistance, or even for a loan, 
was hateful to me. Without their help in any way 
I was resolved to climb the ladder, and reaching 
the top rung to fold my arms calmly, and turning 
about look down to the lowest step, hard to reach 
from the ground, and with pardonable pride to 
exclaim : 

“ By unaided striving I have done thus.” 

The amount of fare money to New York city ex- 
ceeded that of which I was the owner by several 
dollars. So did the fare to either Boston or Albany 
or Buffalo. The rate to Salt City would require 
only six-sixty-five, and as some weeks previously I 
had happened to read an item concerning a big 
boom in manufacturing circles in the latter place I 
purchased a ticket thither. 

My destination was reached shortly after mid- 
night one Saturday evening. Late as it seemed to 
me and really would be in Canada, the thorough- 
fares were crowded with men, women and children, 


130 THE MAKING OF A MILLIONAIRE. 

hustling along and jostling one another in their ap- 
parent frantic haste. Every bone and muscle in 
my body ached from my long journey in the mis- 
erable hard-seated second-class cars, but the tall 
buildings lighted from top to bottom (a sight never 
seen in Canada), the hurrying crowd, the whistles 
of casual boats and steam engines, the clang of 
electric-car bells and jingle of the horse-car dittoes 
awakened in me such a desire to look about that 
all thoughts of searching up a bed were uncon- 
sciously dismissed. So I walked around with my 
mouth open. 

The crowd had by slow degrees thinned away, 
and the noise of whistles and bells died away be- 
fore I was made aware by various disagreeable 
twitchings in all parts of my frame that repose was 
an absolute necessity. I knew that lodgings at any 
hotel could not be obtained for less than two dol- 
lars, and it did not impress me as a wise move to 
expend all the cash I had left in one evening. Yet I 
could not expect to be received into any boarding- 
ing house at this late hour, even if I had known 
where to look for such a place. Strolling along a 
street of quite apparently tough character, musing 
upon what must be done, my eyes fell upon a gas- 
lamp elevated upon an iron post, which stood in 
front of a dingy looking saloon and eating-room. 
The sides of this lamp were of white painted glass, 
each of which sides bore in black letters the follow- 
ing words : 


Lodgings, 15 cents per night.” 


THE MAKING OF A MILLIONAIRE. I31 

This was a place the sort of which I had never 
before heard of, for the lodging house is an institu- 
tion of which Canada is proudly innocent. It 
seemed uninviting in its dirty dimness and I hesi- 
tated before deciding to enter. T was just on the 
point of turning the handle on the front door when 
a thought occurred to me. “ What if this should 
be one of the many ‘ Bunco ’ places we read of in 
novels!” Turning on my heel, I hastened to a 
dark doorway near by and secreted my watch in- 
side the leg of one stocking, while the $2.07 I 
had left, minus the fifteen cents to pay the lodge 
bill, was safely stowed away in the other stocking. 

Entering the bar-room I found it full of drunken 
men of the lowest type of humanity. I felt dread- 
fully out of place and not a little embarrassed to 
know what I should do. After a few moments" 
pause near the entrance, I glanced around and per- 
ceived that a fellow with a most pugilistic counte- 
nance was staring interrogation points by the dozen 
at me. He had an unmistakeably seventeenth of 
Ireland upper lip, pompadoured black hair, and 
half-drunken looking eyes. He was attired in a 
much faded black silk shirt, with a much soiled 
cream-colored silk cravat and beer-saturated vest, 
and as he stood behind the bar he chatted in an 
undertone with another pugilistic looking individ- 
ual who sipped beer from a half-gallon glass. 

Bravely I sauntered up to the bartender, and 
politely asked if I could be accommodated with a 
night’s lodging.? His questioning stare melted 


132 THE MAKING OF A MILLIONAIRE. 

into a surprised cursory scrutiny of me, as he re- 
plied : 

“ Damned if I ain’t sorry, boss, but a bum from 
New Yawk jest got the last roost we had. Don’t 
think he’s straight goods neither, and I’ve got a 
damned gojd mind to kick him out ther winder, 
break his damned neck, and give the room to you.” 

Not being particularly anxious to get a bed by 
such a procedure, I hastily remonstrated, 

“ Oh, do not trouble yourself, sir ; I am a thou- 
sand times obliged to you, but if you have a hall or 
some such other place unoccupied, either will do, 
as I have travelled all day and do not care to go 
further to-night,” and by way of sort of emphasis 
I involuntarily leaned against a table. 

I’ll tell you what it is, boss,” the bartender re- 
plied after a jiioment’s pause, during which he 
affected to be lost in deep thought, as he scratched 
first his head, and then the top of his nose. “ If 
ye don’t mind a lot of nice clean tidy fellows. I’ll 
give you a comfortable bed in the long hall-way.” 

This proposition being agreeable he asked me to 
register. Signing my name so that no one could 
possibly make it out, I handed him the fifteen 
cents in advance. As he took the three nickels, he 
winked and said : 

“ Won’t ye have sometin’ before goin’ to bed ?” 

Not haven eaten a morsel since the morning, 
when I eat a bit of cracker and cheese at a free 
lunch counter, I quickly dispatched a large plate 
of pork and beans. Refusing a schooner of beer 
and managing to extract ten cents from my stock- 


THE MAKING OF A MILLIONAIRE. I33 

ing-leg without anyone detecting me, I paid for the 
beans and asked to be shown to what was called 
my “ Roost.’' 

Taking a small lamp in his hand the bartender 
flew up eight flights of stairs with agility, while I 
crept up slowly behind him. When he had reached 
the top he paused for breath, and to wait until I 
had caught up to him. Then he led the way 
through a tangled series of hallways, having scarce- 
ly any plaster on the walls or ceilings, but piles 
of it on the floor, w-ith years’ accumulations of 
tobacco spittle and other filth. 

Opening a doorway at the end of one of the 
dirtiest of these halls he showed me a room with 
about ten unoccupied beds, telling me to take the 
one farthest from the door. 

I then thanked my guide for his kind offer to 
take care of my valuables, telling him I did not 
have any, and I threw myself on the bed utterly 
fagged out. These cots were muchly patched can- 
vas camp-beds, with a sheet formerly white, now 
multi-colored, with muchly torn quilts thrown care- 
lessly over them. I was soon sound asleep 

A heavy footstep in the hallway awakened me 
from my slumber. A drunken fellow staggered in 
and fell across a bed near the doorway. He soon 
was snoring soundly. 

Shortly afterwards, a tall, thin, dirty-looking 
man came in without staggering. From his cloth- 
ing and the soot which covered his hands and face, 
I judged him to be a coal-heaver. He seemed to 
know the place for he walked directly to the cot 


134 the making of a millionaire. 


next mine, and without more ado, stripped himself 
of his very undershirt, and rolling under the quilts 
was soon asleep happy in his muddiness. 

Another and yet more footsteps sounded in the 
hall followed at long and short intervals, until six 
or seven more than half-drunken individuals had^ 
come in. They did not go to bed but lit a lamp 
on the table and sat around. Poker chips and 
cards were brought out and soon the whole crowd 
was “ staying,” “opening,” “betting” and “rais- 
ing.” They had not seemed to notice me ; yet I. 
could not sleep fearing that if I did so they might 
go through my pockets and stocking without ask- 
ing permission. From the conversation I inferred 

that one of their usual 
number was not present, 
and frequently some one 
would say : 

“ Wonder what the 
devil is keeping him to- 
night !” 

“ Hell ! what a hay- 
seed he is, anyhow.” 

“Not much fun play- 
ing keards together, with- 
out no calf to fleece, is 
there ?” 

Before long a heavy 
foot came hurriedly 
along the hallway. The door was opened and 
one pf the card-players called out : 

“ Hello, there, old man ; glad to see you git 



THE J^rARING OF A MILLIONAIRE. 


135 


around wit de boys agin. Speak of the devil and 
he’s damned sure to appear, eh? Got any rocks 
wit ye ?” 

My back was turned toward the newcomer so 
that I did not see him as he answered, but the 
voice sent a chill to my back. 

“ Yeppy, I nailed my woman for a ‘ V,’ and I’ve 
come here to-night to win back all you fellows 
have got from me.” 

Turning noisily around, to my dumfounded as- 
tonishment before my eyes stood Chief Clerk 
Dupont. 

For an instant I was paralyzed with amazement. 
Quickly recovering I jumped to my feet, and 
sprang at the scoundrel’s throat. 

“ You infernal cur !” I shouted as I made for 
him. 

So frightened was he by my appearance that he 
did not make a single move. My closed fist struck 
his mouth with a vigorous smash. Simultaneously 
the light was extinguished, and a blow from a 
chair stretched me on the floor 

Daylight flooded the apartment when I regained 
consciousness, and found the coal-heaver stooping- 
over me. Neither my money nor my watch was 
gone, and besides a severe soreness at the back of 
the head I was safe and sound. 


136 the making of a millionaire. 


FOURTEENTH INSTALLMENT. 

I MAKE A NEW FRIEND, I BECOME A LORD, AND 
THE TABLES ARE TURNED. 

All the bartender knew about Dupont was lit- 
tle. He told me that he loafed about the slums 
all night long, and what time he was not drunk he 
gambled with a set of professional hangers-around 
of low-class saloons. It was generally known 
among the frequenters of these places that Dupont 
had a “woman,” but where she lived or how she 
existed no one could tell me. 

This bartender, who was an American-born 
Shamrockonian, was named Mike. Thinking the 
woman in question was Sybil I told Mike to keep 
his eyes and ears open to learn the whereabouts 
of the man’s wife, promising him a ten-dollar bill 
if he gave me such information as would lead me to 
find Sybil. 

The morning paper I purchased from a boot- 
black, contained the following want advertisement: 

BOARDERS WANTED — Nice location among 
university students. Such a number, Aristo ave. 

After inquiring of various people and finding 
them much more impolite to strangers than the 
average Canadian is to foreigners I boarded a car 


THE MAKING OE A MILLIONAIRE. 13; 

which brought me within a short distance of such 
a number. Liking the place I engaged to remain. 

Among the students who boarded here was a 
young fellow of about my own age who had just 
been graduated from a fashionable preparatory 
school, and who therefore esteemed himself quite 
a “ blood.” He was an Anglo-maniac of the worst 
type and continually detested himself for having 
been born of American parents. As I was a 
Britisher and could beat anybody at the university 
in a set of tennis, he took a strong liking to me, 
and as he was extremely well to do we struck up 
a friendship. This has lasted ever since. 

I had advertised in two of the daily papers for 
information concerning the whereabouts of Sybil, 
and in another paper for employment as a book- 
keeper or assistant, but not a single answer did I 
receive. Each evening I would get a paper, and 
eagerly scan the “ want ” colums in the hopes of 
learning of some opening, but though I kept this 
up for three weeks no likely vacancy was adver- 
tised. As a matter of consequence I was blue and 
discouraged. Perceiving this one day Frederick 
Michum, for such was my new friend’s name, joked 
me into a smiling mood. Making reluctant con- 
fession of how my affairs were situated, Michum 
said : 

“ Oh, don’t worry over that trifle, Daniels, you’ll 
get a job some day. Meanwhile I will be your 
security with the landlord. Come out and have a 
game of tennis.” 


13 ^ the making of a millionaire. 


From sheer loneliness that evening 1 wrote to 
Sir Blue-Blood Rich. 

Before a week had elapsed a letter and a news- 
paper three weeks old arrived from Sir Blue-Blood. 
The surviving son and the two daughters of the 
Earl of Dashford, in company with a large party 
of other young gentle-folk, were returning from a 
regatta from Calais to Cork harbor on board a 
private steam yacht when, in a dense fog which 
came up suddenly, the vessel was run into by a 
French ironclad. Eleven persons were rescued, 
but none of these were Dashfords. The old Earl 
cut his throat in despair within forty-eight hours 
of the disaster. This left my mother the title of 
Countess of Dashford, with the sole inheritance of 
her father’s vast estate. 

Notwithstanding whatever my relatives might 
wish to the contrary I was now the heir apparent to 
all of those estates, and although I would not be 
the Earl of Dashford until my mother’s death, dur- 
ing the life time of my mother, I could legally 
glory in the title of Lord Dashy. But this dignity 
brought no estate and no necessary income with it. 

In the same paper was a personal advertise- 
ment : 

“ If Philip D will return home, and throw 

aside all his foolish notions all will be forgiven. 
Mrs. H. Daniels, Boodleburg, Canada.” 

Sir Blue-Blood strongly urged me to return, and 
to abjure atheism by word of mouth at least. 

'‘For,” urged Sir Blue-Blood, “You will then be 


THE MAKING OE A MiTJJONAlRE. 


139 


granted a large allowance, and will have all the 
marriageable daughters of the country at your feet 
in short order.” 

Sir Blue-Blood himself had since been commis- 
sioned to be the Baron of Tascherau, and Tillie 
would thereafter be Lady Tillie Tascherau. Hop- 
ing that I would take his advice and thereby re- 
ceive an independent allowance, Sir Blue-Blood 
closed his letter. 

My advice to young men or women holding re- 
ligious views of their own foreign to those held by 
their parents and relatives is this: It costs you 
nothing to keep your thoughts to yourself. Upon 
this subject, speech is not silver, but limestone of the 
most inferior quality; and silence, instead of being 
gold, is the most precious diamorfd in the crown of 
favor of your friends. Think all you wish about 
the absurdity of the statement, “God is,” but 
bridle your tongue unless you care not to bask in 
the sunshine of the preference of your kinsfolk. 

Too proud to return to a home from which I had 
been so recently driven, and especially scorning the 
proposition to eat my , words, I wrote to Sir Blue- 
Blood, congratulating him upon his attainment to 
the baronial dignity, and explaining my reasons 
for not following his advice 

News that Michum’s chum had just become a 
lordling circulated among the students as quickly 
as a bogus silver dollar does among Bowery bar- 
tenders. At Michum’s suggestion I registered in 
the university books for the atliLtic course and 


THE MAKING OF A MILLIONAIRF. 


r'40 

Latin lectures in order that I might thus be ac- 
corded student’s privileges. 

Few of the “ Co-Eds ” had heretofore known of 
my existence, but within two weeks of the spread 
of the news, the doors of the most exclusive Greek- 
letter fraternity and sorority chapter-houses, the 
private parlors of the most aristocratic belles of 
the university were thrown open to the “ delight- 
ful Lord Dashy.” Invitations fairly poured in, all 
of which I managed somehow to accept and fulfill. 
No thought of procuring employment occurred 
to me now, even though I did owe my landlord 
quite a sum. With borrowed linen, silk and patent 
leather, I was patched up presentably for all occa- 
sions. 

Though the conceit of university students is 
proverbially immense, the attention I received 
swelled my self-esteem beyond the bounds of that 
attributed to the most conceited of them. Ladies 
were (as a matter of course, thought I) in love with 
me. “ But,” said I to myself, “ women have no 
charms for me, my heart is now of stone. Yet I 
will calmly submit to their adoration, and while I 
will not confide in any of them that my heart is 
broken I will show them by my manner that fall- 
ing in love is too juvenile a thing for me to do 
now; nevertheless, so not to hurt the feelings of 
any,” I went on, speaking to myself in the same 
now amusingly conceited strain, “ I will show a lit- 
tle attention here and there among these women.” 

As the most badly smitten of all seemed to be 
Phoebe Lloyd, I gallantly resolved to show her 


THE MAKING OF A MILLIONAIRE. I4T 

more attention than to any one else. Phoebe was 
the daughter of Dean Lloyd, who had charge of 
the Fine Arts course and boarded with his daugh- 
ter at such a number. 

She possessed a queenly deportment ; her voice 
seemed as the nightingale’s; her breath like unto 
the scent of roses ; while her classic conversation 
in reality captivated my attentions. 

Though I made myself believe that my continual 
hovering? about her were due entirely to my gal- 
lant unselfish determination that she should not 
experience the shock that her affection forme was 
unrequested. 

To balls, receptions, operas, soirees, and musicales 
I took Miss Phoebe, and for the ice-cream, soda, 
seltzer, strawberries and cream., “ Huyler’s,” etc., 
etc., ad infinitum almost, which Miss Phoebe ate, 
1 paid for with the most cordial condescension im- 
aginable with money borrowed from Michum. 
(And, by the by, never repaid). 

Finally one day, when I had known her for al- 
most three months, I confessed to myself that 
perhaps I might some day love Phoebe a little bit, 
and as she seemed so genuinely happy in my so- 
ciety, I resolved to throw aside all sentimental 
feelings for Sybil and make a hero of myself in 
sacrificing myself by marrying Phoebe. 

Phoebe was two years my senior, I being then 
about twenty-five. Her sleeping apartment must 
be passed to reach my room, and many were the 
sublime poems slipped under her doors when all 
the house was in deepest slumber. 


142 THE MAKING OF A MILLIONAIRE. 

Four months had now elapsed since I first 
showed Miss Lloyd my attentions as she sat di- 
rectly opposite me at table during my first meal at 
such a number. The time had come to pop the 
question. 

“ It is scarcely necessary for me to ask Phoebe 
to be my wife/’ I patronizingly said to iMyself. 
“ She must know I am aware how profoundly she 
loves me. Oh, well, it does not make any differ- 
ence to me,” I went on, “ but custom says it is 
demanded, and so I will propose as a matter of 
form.” 

Sitting up late, very late, one night, I arranged 
the following : 

Phoebe so modest and so fair, 

Fare thee well ! 

So exquisite, thy charms ensnare 
Me full well. 

Thou hast captured, quite, my heart ; 

But what would you do with a thing so tart ? 

This I thought awfully ’cute. I carefully wrote 
it on the back of one of my calling cards and re- 
tired to bed. I dreamed that Phoebe and I were 
married and living alone on a lovely island in the 
Pacific ; that she smiled upon me throughout the 
year, and that I had eventually fallen in love with 
her, and poemized her smiles and gestures. 

Next day which was a Friday I ordered a florist 
to deliver during the forenoon at the residence of 
Miss Lloyd a dozen choice roses with the poetry 
tacked on. Phoebe was always at home to me on 
Friday evenings. (Nothing was going on these 


THE MAKING OF A MILLIONAIRE. I43 

evenings, as the operas, musicales, etc., were but 
poorly attended on such evenings, and as the men 
of the Greek-letter fraternities held their chapter 
meetings Friday nights). 

The lamp was extinguished in the back parlor 
that night about twelve o’clock, for were not the 
silver rays of fair Luna sufficient light for the fond 
caresses of two refined souls ? She sat upon the 
tete-a-tete, and I sat by her side, her soft white 
hand I held in mine, with joy I could have died, 
around her w^aist my arm was placed and I drew 
her to my side. “ The beating of our own hearts, 
was all the sound we heard,” as the poet said, for 
a long hour. When the clock in the outer parlor 
struck one I hastily arose. 

“ It is early yet, don’t go ; the moon makes 
it so pretty to sit here in the silence,” Phoebe in- 
formed me. 

Casting myself upon my knees at her feet, with 
irrepressible emotion I snatched up her hands and 
kissed them passionately. 

“ Phoebe, dearest, my darling Phoebe, I love you.” 

With a calm soft aristocratic dignity, Phoebe 
replied : “ Do you really ? I am so glad to 

hear it.” 

More passionately I kissed her hands. 

After three or four minutes’ silence, I ventured : 
“ And do you love me in return, darling Phoebe ?” 

With the same aristocratic calmness with which 
she had delivered her other sentence she answered 
me : “ Most certainly I do.” 

I thought I would have burst with joy and 


144 


THE MAKING OF A MILLIONAIRE. 


gladness to hear such a statement from the tempt- 
ing lips which I had kissed half a dozen times in 
quick succession before she had finished informing 
me : “ Most certainly I do.” 

Re-sitting upon the tete-a-tete I held her closer 
and closer to me until the marble clock in the next 
room warned us that Saturday was three hours 
old. Then we arose. At her bed-room door, hold- 
ing both her hands in mine and looking up into her 
sparkling eyes (just as dead sleepy as possible, at 
such an early hour), I whispered : “ When can we 

marry, dearest ?” 

“ She is too overcome with emotion,” I thought, 
as she did not answer. I held Phoebe’s head on 
my shoulder, and I did fancy I heard a suppressed 
laugh near by, but dismissed the thought when I 
knew every one else must be in bed. 

“ Come, Phoebe darling,” I urged again, Name 
the day when I can make you mine.” 

Her reply though spoken in measured tones con- 
founded me. “ The month after I become divorced 
from Major Banks.” 

“ And who the devil is Major Banks ?” I gasped. 

“Why, don’t you know?” she answered, with 
a ring of real surprise in her voice, as she drew 
back towards her room. “ Why, don’t you know 
Major Banks is the Lehigh coal man that I am to 
be married to in five weeks ; I thought you knew 
all about it and were only acting make-believe 
with me.” 

The tables were turned and Tillie was avenged, 
and the bruise to my conceit caused me to almost 
kill myself. 


THE MAKING OF A MILLIONAIRE. 


145 


SIXTEEN. 

I BECOME A REPORTER, GIVE YOU A HINT ON 

HOW YOU ARE BEING FOOLED EVERY DAY 
AND STUMBLE ACROSS TWO OLD FRIENDS 

No sleep came to me that eventful Saturday 
morning. I tossed about in bed, telling myself 
over and over again : “ What an ass am I.” Here 
were two valuable months vanished and not a sin- 
gle thing accomplished to show advancement 
toward that fame which was to make my relatives 
green with jealousy. 

Reading over the first part of my diary, I took 
an oath not to flitter away another single minute 
but to concentrate all my energies to win fortune. 
I wrote several copies of the following, and mailed 
one to each of the managing editors of the Salt 
City daily newspapers. 

Such a number Aristo Avenue, 

“ Salt CiTY^Jtine 23, — . 

“ Sir : — When needing a reporter for the staff 
of your paper, kindly send for me. I have had 
thorough experience in the reportorial business 
and am well acquainted with the prominent men 
of the town.” 

These two statements were decidedly contrary 


146 THE MAKING OF A MILLIONAIRE. 


to the truth, but I had learned during the short 
time I had been in the United States that without 
plenty of brass and bluffing a person had no chance 
to improve his business prospects in the domains 
of Uncle Sam. 

Within two weeks the editor of (let it be called) 
“ The Republican ” had assigned me to write up the 
university news at a salary of ten dollars per week. 
While the collegiate year lasted abundant oppor- 
tunity was given me to fill column after column 
with descriptions of recitals, banquets, athletic 
games and commencement exercises. But with the 
advent of vacation I became stranded for matter 
to write about. Scarcely a dozen persons were 
known to me outside university associations, and 
as all these university folk would leave the city 
until the coming September, where was I to get 
any news } 

One day I started out in quest of stray items 
and covered what I thought was about every lineal 
inch of sidewalk in the city, without obtaining a 
particle of gossip sufficiently important for publi- 
cation. Returning to the editorial rooms, I in- 
formed the city editor of the course 1 had taken, 
and of my not having secured a story ” as the 
topic of any newspaper article is termed. 

“ Well, that is strange " said the city editor, a 
.short, fat, middle-aged fellow, whose ruddy face 
was continually perspiring, through his rushing 
around everywhere and at all times as though try- 
ing to make up for the fifteen seconds he had over- 


THE MAKING OF A MILLIONAIRE. 


47 


slept himself that morning. “Didn’t you see two 
men talking together somewhere on the streets ?” 

Wondering what relation to my getting news 
two men talking together on the streets would 
have, I answered : “ Why— yes — I saw more than 
oiie couple of men talking.” 

The city editor was not joking when he de- 
manded : “ Well, why in thunderation, didn’t you 
go up to them and ask them what they were talk- 
ing about 

Looking questioningly into his face, I answered, 
hesitatingly, wondering if he were not really jest- 
ing : “ Frankly speaking, sir, I did not even dream 
of being so impertinent.” 

Flying into a rage he arose from his chair, and 
while I decamped to a safe distance, he thundered 
at me: Didn’t even dream of being so imperti- 

nent,’ didn’t you ? What the blazes are you paid 
for? Is it to stand on a corner forever, and hope 
somebody will come along and give you a story? 
I’ll give you a straight tip, young fellow: You’ll 
never get your stom.ach full if you only keep your 
mouth open and hope some kind philanthropist 
will come along and drop a dinner into it. Neither 
will you get a story unless you hustle mighty 
hard.” 

As he gave no furtlier indications of striking me 
with his ink bottle, I came over to his desk again. 
“ I am really very sorry, sir,” I began in a weak 
voice, “but I am yet very young at the repor- 
torial work, Should you give me a little counsel 


148 THE MAKING OF A MILLIONAIRE. 

about doing things, I will do my utmost to im- 
prove.” 

Calming down a little after a brief period, city 
editor Holler smiled at me, while he assured me 
confidentially: “You’re not really a bad fellow, 
Dashy, so if you take my advice and follow my 
instructions. I’ll give you tips from time to time 
that will help you along toward making yourself a 
good reporter.” 

Next day he assigned me to go by electric-car 
to that suburb of Salt City where some three or 
four hundred men were employed in the excava- 
tion for an immense reservoir to hold the water 
with which the city was to be supplied. 

The ground set aside for the reservoir was sur- 
rounded on all sides by little hills which shut off 
from the observation of a person standing in the 
centre of the excavation, all view of the world 
beyond the hills. 

Gangs of Italians and negroes were digging 
away in the ground with their picks and shovels, 
while dozens of little mules, each with a little 
dumpable cart attached behind came over in single 
file to where the men were shovelling the earth, 
and each in turn took its place until its cart was 
filled. When this had been done, the foreman of 
the gang would utter a peculiar whistle when off a 
mule would creep until it had arived at the dump- 
ground on the opposite side of the reservoir. Here 
it would stand until the cart was relieved of its 
load, after which the animal would return for 
another cartful, No driver or other person led 


the making of a millionaire. i 4 g 

the way for the mules. Each creature knew just 
what was expected of it and went through the 
routine every time without making a false step. 

The negroes occupied dilapidated shanties in 
the western hills ; the Italians dwelt in little huts 
rudely constructed of mud, sticks, grass-sods and 
empty dynamite barrels, situated on the northern 
hills. The form of construction of these huts 
was interesting : First, two poles eight feet long 
were driven into the ground for one and a half 
feet, and five feet apart. A slab was stretched 
from lop to top of these poles, and downward from 
this beam at intervals of ten inches ran on either 
side branches of cedar trees, nine feet long. Upon 
these stringers were placed sods with the grassy 
side turned inward. On some of these huts old 
tin was substituted for sod. This grass or tin cov- 
ered every portion of the edifice with the excep- 
tion of a space two by three feet which did service 
as well for a chimney as for a door. In the centre 
of each hut were four stones between which a fire 
of withered grass and wood burned firecely, and 
upon this fire was placed an iron kettle. No beds 
were visible and the only seats were either lager 
beer kegs or empty dynamite barrels. The office 
of the works, with the residence of the sub-con- 
tractors, occupied the eastern hills, while the 
southern hills contained the habitations of the 
American foremen and the skilled laborers. And 
all these various cam.ps were prettily arranged. 

Strolling among them I forgot all about the 
outer world. They were little worlds in them- 


150 THE MAEiNG OF A MILLIONAIRE. 

selves. Living-houses, implement sheds, cook’s 
quarters, storekeeper’s buildings, blacksmith’s 
shops and stables for the mules. 

Stretched upon their backs in or around these 
stables I saw four or five negroes all of whom were 
more or less drunk. As I came near to where 
they were lying, some of them cried out good- 
naturedly : “ How d’ye do, boss ? Come foah see 
the little mules ?” 

Thinking it good policy to be sociable I an- 
swered : “ No, not exactly the mules, boys. 1 
just came over to see how you were getting along. 
Why are you not working down in the reser- 
voir ?” 

“Oh, we doan’ work no more; de boss won’ gib 
us de wages we earned, so we won’ work no 
more.” 

I asked the contractor afterwards what the trou- 
ble might be. He told me the negroes were very 
unsteady workmen. “ Hardly have they worked 
one week,” said the contractor, “ they want all 
their pay and when they get this pay they leave 
■^ork for a week’s spree.” As he was anxious and 
desirous of having a certain corner of wall finished 
within a few days he could not spare the men to 
go off, so would not give them any money with 
which to buy liquor. With the exception of the 
four or five I had seen in the mule stables, the 
black men had not left their gangs. 

Ordinarily one would think no more about the 
drunken negroes. The little village of working- 
men, the pretty arrangement of the whole, and the 


THE MAKING OF A MILLIONAIRE. 151 

quaint manner in which the mules went about 
their business were to my mind interesting topics 
for my article in the “ Republican ” the next day. 
Accordingly I wrote a long article expatiating upon 
these topics, not writing anything of the drunken 
negroes, as I considered them of no account. I 
handed the article to the city editor, remarking 
incidentally: “A couple of negroes were lying 
around the stables. They were all drunk, and 
said they would not work any more as the con- 
tractor refused to pay them. Contractor Biz told 
me it was one of their regular weekly sprees, and 
not to take the slightest notice of them.’' 

This is how the article appeared in the paper 
that evening : 

NEGROES STRIKE! 


THE COLORED GANG ON THE RESERVOIR 
WANTS REGULAR PAY. 


“NO PAY, NO WORK,” IS THE CRY. 


The Contractors Laugh at Them and say They 
are Drunk. The Italians Remain at 
Their Work. 


AN ANSWER DEMANDED BEFORE WED- 
NESDAY. 


About one hundred negroes employed 
on the new reservoir just outside the 
city limits left off work entirely yester- 
day afternoon. They went on strike be- 


152 


THE MAKING OF A MILLIONAIRE. 


cause, they say, their pay is irregular 
and unlessihe contractors agree to pay 
them regularly they will not resume 
work. There is no labor union among 
them but every one seems actuated by a 
spirit to allow no bosses to play with, 
them. 

Contractor Biz was seen by a Repub- 
lican reporter, and he spoke very lightly 
of the affair. “ The negroes,” he said, 
“ whenever they feel lazy take a day off. 
They are having their regular spree. 
To-morrow morning will see them at 
work again.” 

The laborers said, however, they 
would not be laughed out of their just 
demands, and they insisted on an an- 
swer before Wednesday. “Unless we 
have a favorable answer we will not go 
to work.” 

The Italians are at work and t;ike no 
interest whatever in the strike of their 
fellow workmen. Of course if they per- 
sist in their demands the contractors 
will have to promise to listen to them as 
the gang is large and not easy to re- 
place.” 


Not one word about ‘‘ the quaint little mules ’’ 
and funny huts 

It was thus with every article I wrote thereafter 
until the time arrived when I had been “ broken 
in ” to exaggeration and sensationalization. The 
secret I learned was this : Adhering to the strict 
truth in every case, yet omitting the one side of a 
comparatively ordinary story when the narration 
of the other side only would give the city editor an 
opportunity to double-head and triple-lead the 
article. 

Of the much talked of “ interviews ” of reporters 


THE MAKING OP A MILLIONAIRE. 


with business men and others I had my share. 
Take for instance the hair-raising statement of Gov. 
No-Matter- Whom to some reporter, hard up for 
news : “ Mary had a little lamb.” Every tongue 
in the State woul J have his say as to whether the 
Governor deserved commendation or denunciation 
for making such an unusually bold statement as 
that. And of course everybody would want to 
know what the prominent men thought about it. 
Accordingly I was assigned by the city editor to 
“ interview ” ten or twelve of the best known pub- 
lic men of the city and to learn what they had to 
say about the remarkable utterance. 

Rapping at the door of the office of cashier So- 
and-So of the National Bank, he bade me enter. 
Then I asked him warmly : “ I am a reporter for 
the Daily Republican, Mr. So-and-So. What do 
you think of the assertion of Governor Whom to 
the effect that Mary had a little lamb ?” 

Without even raising his head from the book in 
which he was writing, cashier So-and-So exclaimed : 
“I wish you infernal reporters would take a tum- 
ble. I am too busy to talk with you. I don’t care 
a damn about the assertion of Governor Whom. 
It may be right or it may be wrong. I know noth- 
ing about the matter and care a damn-sight less. 
Furthermore I don’t want you to write for the 
paper that you interviewed me.” 

That was how the interview actually occurred. 
This is how it appeared in the Republican : 

“ The reporter of the Republican next called upon 
cashier So-and-So of the National Bank, who in his 


154 the making of a millionaire. 


genial manner said: ‘I am at a loss-to form an 
opinion of the overwhelming statement of Governor 
Whom. Some moments it se'ems to me to be cor- 
rect statement of probability, while at other mo- 
ments it seems to me to be absurd. However, my 
dear sir, I do not wish to commit myself in either 
direction, so good day.’ ” 

Senator Peckful who represented in the legisla- 
ture the district in which Salt City is situated was 
next asked by me what he thought of the state- 
ment of Governor Whom. Governor Whom, Sena- 
tor Peckful and the Republican were a unit in re- 
publican views, so he said : 

“ D’ ye dhrink, young man ? Hev a cigar then. 
What do I think of the statement of Governor 
Whom, d’ye ax me ? I haven’t had a minute’s time 
to rade the paaper this mornin’ and I did not aven 
knoew his honor said what you say. The state- 
ment does seem very quare indade, and indade it 
does to be shure, but if Governor Whom did make 
such a remark, shure an’ Oi’m not the man to con- 
terdict him.” 

Foregoing is the word-for-word interview. The 
aftergoing is as the Republican printed it : 

“ I am entirely in harmony with the sentiments 
of our noble governor upon that question. I can 
not see why the veracity of his statement can for a 
moment be doubted or questioned. It is not un- 
likely that Mary would have a lamb, other girls 
have been known to possess such animals; and if it 
is at all probable she would have a lamb it stands 
to common sense that a little child like Mary would 


THE MAKING OF A MILLIONAIRE. 


155 


prefer to have a small lamb rather than a big one. 
Certainly Governor Whom strikes the nail pre- 
cisely on the head in giving a public opinion to that 
effect, and it is only his prejudiced political antago- 
nists, his conscienceless enemies, that raise any 
doubt of the correctness of his statement.” 

The account of these two interviews, not in the 
least particular exaggerated, will give the unin- 
itiated reader some idea of how near the stern 
truth he is reading when perusing accounts of 
“interviews ” in sensational newspapers 

The fall term of the university began in due sea- 
son, and with it returned the people who had been 
my earlier acquaintances in Salt City. Fritz Mich- 
um had returned from a European tour, and the 
Banks wjre back from Atlantic City. 

But by this time I had been promoted to have 
the assignment of covering personals, summer re- 
sorts and hotels, so that beyond a brief mention of 
the return to town of the more fashionable belles 
of the university I had no reportorial dealings with 
that institution. 

On one of my daily rounds of the hotels I was 
very pleasantly surprised to see upon the register 
of the hotel Yates the strange names of two familiar 
persons: 

“ Lady Tillie Rich, London, England.” 

“ Lord Blue-Blood Rich, Baron of Tascherau, 
London, England.” 

The porter returned from delivering my card 
with a message that her ladyship and his lordship 
requested my presence in the private parlor, sec- 


156 THE MAKING OF A MILLIONAIRE. 

ond floor left. Tillie had grown prettier and 
sweeter in the past year, while Lord Tascherau 
had added to his deportment as much more stiff- 
ness as became his new rank. 

As the regulations of the order to which Florence 
belonged forbade communication of its members 
with even immediate relations they had not heard 
anything of Florence by letter or otherwise since 
the preceding January first. Clarence, they under- 
stood, was still tying knots in his waist-rope. Lit- 
tle or nothing did they know about Boodleburg, as 
they had not been there since their removal to 
England upon Sir Blue-Blood’s reception of the 
baronial dignity. They were now returning from 
a trip to Australia, having debarked at San Fran- 
cisco to travel across the United States. With a 
view to looking up Lord Dashy they had come to 
Salt City before proceeding to Boodleburg. There 
they meditated remaining upon their estate until 
the opening of the social season in London. 

I prevailed upon my newly-found friends to 
spend some weeks in Salt City in order that I might 
show them off to the petty aristocrats among the 
students. Fritz was much smitten with Tillie’s 
charms, and her apparent inheritance to baronial 
honors might have been of some importance in in- 
fluencing him as he did to fall in love with her im- 
mediately. His being a leader in the D. K. E. 
fraternity, and my being “ editor ” of the “ Society 
Department ” of the Republican, together we had 
no difficulty in securing invitations for our noble 
guests and ourselves to all the swell affairs of the 


THE MAKING OF A MILLIONAIRE. 


157 


next four weeks. When nothing else was to take 
place any evening, we would have a box at one of 
the opera-houses, and would wind up with a mid- 
night banquet at the Yates. 

On my route of visiting the summer resorts and 
officially attending picnics and excursions, the four 
of us would go along. Michum paid all our bills, 
of course, but he could do so without missing the 
cash, so I did not take any scruples to urge him to 
economize. 

Concluding that if they wished to see anything 
of Boodleburg and yet be in London at the com- 
mencement of the season, our guests fixed the day 
for their departure. They strongly urged Fritz 
and myself to accompany them thither, but as I 
had previously resolved not to flitter away any 
more time, I yielded not to temptation. Besides, 
I had little or no cash with which to keep myself, 
even in cigars, for a period longer than a week or 
so, if I left work, and leaving town would involve 
the loss of my position on the Republican. Never- 
theless, Fritz accompanied the Tascheraus not only 
to Boodleburg, but subsequently — the wish of his 
people to the contrary notwithstanding — went to 
London with Lord Tascherau and his daughter. 


158 THE MAKING OF A MILLIONAIRE. 


SEVENTEENTH PORTION. 

A FEW MORE POINTERS FOR MY DEAR FELLOW, 
AND THE TRAGIC DEATH OF THE VILLAIN 
OF THE PLAY, 

Police courts and the morgues are the paradise 
assignments of the reporter engaged on sensa- 
tional newspapers. P'ulfilling this assignment, 
nothing else is necessary but to stand around the 
court most of the day, taking an occasional stroll 
to the morgues near by. 

Months after the departure of Fritz with the 
Tascheraus, as I had then reached the pinnacle of 
.exaggeration and sensationalizing, the editor of 
the Republican promoted me to the police court 
and morgue assignments. 

Court began at 9 A.M. From one quarter of an 
hour to twenty minutes before this time- 1 would 
enter the court room and sit well back in one of 
the cushioned chairs reserved for reporters at the 
table just in front of the magistrate’s desk. From 
here I had a full view of the entire proceedings. 
The room would be vacant when I entered, but 
soon, one by one, and sometimes by twos and 
threes, men and women of the very lowest classes 
of humanity would come into the space reserved 
for the general public, and pack themselves along- 


THE MAKING OF A MILLIONAIRE. 159 

side each other on the long, hard-backed and 
harder-seated benches, like sardines in a tin box. 

One was a female with a Hebrew-looking, highly- 
arched nose, upon which (by the lord Harry !) was 
perched a pair of gold-rimmed eyeglasses with gold 
chain attached. Over her partly gray hair was thrown 
what might have been a bonnet before it had been 
sat upon a number of times. ' Both bonnet and 
gown were of long-since faded black, full of creases, 
and much begrimed with street dust. In one of 
her hands, which she held continually crossed in 
her lap, was a much soiled linen pocket handker- 
chief. Every morning, while my assignment lasted, 
this same woman would be the first to take her seat 
at the head of the bench nearest to the railing 
which enclosed the general public space. Her 
daily appearance in the place caused my mind to 
revert to the old lady ward in the case of Jarndyce 
V. Jarndyce who bobs up so frequently in “ Bhak 
House.” Many times I was about to ask her what 
case she might be waiting for, but each time even my 
reporter’s nerve failed me. So, she continued to 
come and go, and I continued to speculate upon 
whom she might be. 

Coatless men, hatless women ; many with scarred 
faces, women with blackened eyes ; men three- 
quarters drunk, with a brandy-flask in one hand 
and the brim of a hat in the other, women more 
than half-drunk, holding a baby in arms ; men with 
cheeks unshaven for weeks, women unwashed for 
longer periods ; little boys whose only apparel con- 
sisted of a single suspender and ragged pants, little 


l6o THE MAKING OF A MILLIONAIRE. 


girls with long, knotted hair, dirty faces, shoeless 
feet, and torn dresses, holding to the dirtiest skirts 
of some adult female whose eyes denoted days and 
nicrhts of wretched intoxication. ^ 

Such creatures as these would be packed together 
on these benches every morning. Occasionally 
some female too drunk to remain awake would fall 
asleep and her head fall forward onto the shoulder 
of some also drunken man on the bench in front. 
He would start to his feet, throwing her violently 
to the concrete ground. A miniature riot would 
follow, which the police officers would quell by 
clubbing and ejecting the chief parties. 

Why these miserable creatures were allowed to 
loaf here I could never understand. Possibly they 
had some friends among the prisoners to be tried 
that morning. But supposing this were so, I could 
never see any justification for tolerating such a 
crowd of abandoned characters to congregate at 
such places and pollute the very court-room with 
disgusting fumes of whiskey and rotten tobacco. 

Later on in life I have often asked myself: “ Is 
there any justification for the toleration of their 
existence in any respectable community? Why 
does not the government with its millions of sur- 
plus in the treasury not set apart some territory or 
purchase some adjacent island, to which could be 
banished all such irredeemably bad characters ? 

“ Lepers are transported to Pacific Islands, in 
order to relieve civilization of the sight of their 
obnoxious disease. But is there a more shocking, 
more disgusting, more sickening objection to the 


THE MAKING OF A MILLIONAIRE. l6l 

sense of respectable people, than the sight of a 
woman rolling in the gutter, cursing and swearing, 
with bleeding, half-naked, dirty body, eyes bulging 
from their fiery sockets, but withal clinging with 
desperation to a whiskey flask? 

“ True, banishing such species of debased man- 
kind would not invariably cause them to “ be born 
again,” but then it goes without challenge that 
society would be very materially benefitted were 
such an abominable sore removed completely from 
its vision.” 

One particular morning during my police court 
assignment there was an unusually large number 
of debased people in the public space allotted to 
the general public. In the faces of three or four 
of them I recognized the poker players whose 
acquaintance I had made two years previously in 
the eighth floor of the cheap lodging house. I won- 
dered to myself which was the individual who had 
administered to me the felling blow with the chair, 
but reached no conclusion. 

Nine o’clock arrived. The public space was 
jammed to, suffocation ; the reporters were at their 
place; “shyster” lawyers were grouped together 
to the right of the magistrate’s desk ; the turnkey 
opened the cell-door leading from the prison and 
marched out twelve or fifteen prisoners. 

The officials were all in their places at the right 
time, but the justice himself, as is customary with 
all important personages in this world did not ar- 
rive until fifteen or thirty minutes later. 

The twelve or fifteen prisoners were the harvest 


i 62 the making of a millionaire. 

gathered by the patrol wagons the previous night. 
Most were ordinary drunks, one or two were 
drunken fighters. O le was a little girl of about 
seventeen arrested the preceding day, and locked 
in a cell all night, for stealing six pocket-handker- 
chiefs from the effects of her wealthy mistress. 

Those arrested for drunkenness were for the most 
part well known to the court as they had been 
there many times before. Each time the justice 
would fine them a dollar, or send them to jail for 
six months. 

What a dreadful punishment ! Some would pay 
their dollar fine and shuffle out of court, chuckling 
inwardly that it cost only a dollar to paint the 
town red. While others would welcome the fine 
sentence to jail, for they knew that in the capacity 
of prisoners they could enjoy ten times better 
board than what they could when depending for it 
on their own resources. 

It often used to strike me as I sat and watched 
the proceedings, “ Is it fair and just that the very 
scum of our cities should receive such good treat- 
ment at the hands of the government for no other 
reason than because they have broken the laws, 
while many an honest man must endure half-star- 
vation rather than desecrate the identical statutes 
for the violation of which the scum get good 
victuals free of charge ? 

“ Is it fair and just,” I would muse again, “ for a 
municipality to use these fines — this blood money, 
in a manner ; the price of a man’s damnation — 
towards paying corporation offlee expenses ? Was 


TFIE MAKING OF A MILLIONAIRE. 163 

it to help pay civic expenditures that police courts 
and fines were instituted ? If not, why is not the 
penalty for crime made so severe that a criminal 
undergoing it once would take great precautions 
not to merit it again ? Fifty years ago horse-steal- 
ing was punishable by hanging, but now it is classed 
as a minor crime. But is horse-stealing any the 
less scarce or more infrequent ? Let us have upon 
our statute books a law that everybody found 
drunk on the streets will be removed to jail and 
given fifty lashes from a horsewhip upon the naked 
body, and I will bet a dollar to a peanut shell that 
‘intoxication upon the public highway,’ would 
soon be one of the ‘ Has Beens.’ ” 

The little girl arrested for stealing the pocket- 
handkerchiefs was one of six children in a poor 
family where the father had broken both legs two 
years previously by falling down a steep rocky em- 
bankment while going for a doctor to attend his 
sick wife, on a dark and stormy night. He was 
crippled for life, yet in the ensuing suit for dam- 
ages the city squirmed out of paying damages and 
even his doctor’s bill, as they brought evidence ^ 
to show that the man must have been drunk the 
night in question. For was it not generally known 
that he took a glass of liquor occasionally ? 

As an example to the rest of the family and to 
the “ Public ” — meaning those people packed in the 
space^ — the magistrate inflicted a fine of ten dollars 
on the girl, the handkerchiefs being worth scarcely 
as many cents. In default of payment he sent the 


164 the making of a millionaire. 

girl to the reformatory for six months. This dis- 
posed of the prisoners present. 

“Adelina Evangeline Gertrude Montmorency/' 
or something like that, was the next name called 
out. The person owning that name was not in at- 
tendance, but was represented by counsel. It ap- 
peared she was a fashionable demoiselle belonging 
to one of the most aristocratic churches in Salt 
City, was a member of tea-giving societies, etc., 
etc. She was charged with having thrown her 
cape over a costly hat lying upon the counter in a 
fashionable millinery store the day previously and 
subsequently carrying off the cape with the hat 
beneath it. Tlieir could be no denial of the theft, 
scores of people had seen the floor-walker stop her 
as she was about to leave the store. She was ar- 
rested but bailed almost instantaneously. Consider- 
ingf the high connections and refinement of the de- 
fendant no sentence was imposed, and on motion of 
the counsel no record was made on the books of 
the court. 

The several reporters were “ respectfully re- 
quested by the fair kleptomaniac personally,” who 
had the reporters called to an adjoining room for 
that purpose, to publish nothing about the “dis- 
agreeable affair.” The other reporters assured me 
it was the usual thing so I acquiesced in keeping 
the case out of the papers, and we divided up the 
twenty-five dollars among us. Such is the im- 
partial justice of the courts in that fair land of the 
free and equal ! 

My autrefois acquaintance — Mike the bar-tender 


'the making of a millionaire. 165 

— was the next “ bailed ” prisoner. He had been 
detected by a member of the I. O. G. T. while 
selling liquor to a minor, hence his arrest. The 
evidence was clear and conclusive ; Mike pleaded 
guilty but solicited the leniency of the court. 
This was his first offence, his lawyer told the 
magistrate, so the magistrate let Mike off with a 
warning. It is of course of no importance to note 
in passing that in most parts of the United States 
justices receive their offices directly from the 
voters, and these are controlled very largely by 
owners of saloons. 

The last person for trial that day was evidently 
a turbulent fellow. This kind of individual is not 
brought into the court-room until the others are 
disposed of, in order that the court officials may 
concentrate their vigilance to prevent his escape. 

Covered with clots of blood with dirt mixed in, 
his hair standing in all directions, his eyes bulging 
and his clothes torn to pieces, two policemen 
brought in a man and chained him to the stand. 
The man was Chief Clerk Dupont. His eyes met 
my astounded stare. My head became so suddenly 
hot that I rushed out from the court-room into the 
park near by. When I was calm again I strolled 
over to the office of the ‘ Republican,’ and had 
another reporter assume my assignment for the 
remainder of the day. 

Being accused of cheating at a game of poker 
late the preceding night Dupont had struck his 
accuser in the face. A general row followed. 
One fellow was stabbed to death and Dupont’s 


1 66 THE MAKING OF A MILLIONAIRE. 

knife had dpne the stabbing. The long and short 
of it was that Dupont was charged with murder, 
and four months later he began to serve a life 
sentence in the State Penitentiary. 

Advertisements concerning his wife brought no 
response. Nevertheless I could not bear the sug- 
gestion to go and see Dupont himself to ask about 
Sybil. My letters to him remained unanswered. 


THE MAKING OF A MILLIONAIRE. 


CHAPTER XVII. 

THE ROLLING STONE STARTS OFF AFRESH. 

Old King Time had merrily tripped along his 
endless path during a year’s period since the first 
incarceration of Chief Clerk Dupont. That period 
witnessed the suicide of Dupont, who cut his 
throat with his own dinner knife before the day of 
his imprisonment had attained its first anniversary. 
Still, advertisements for Sybil brought no satis- 
factory response 

With all possible formality. Lord Taschereau, 
K. G., K. C. M. G., baron of Taschereau in the 
peerage of Ireland, etc., etc., “ greeted his beloved 
cousin Lord Dashy,” and ceremoniously requested 
the honor of his presence at the marriage of Lady 
Tillie Taschereau to Frederick Michum, Esq., A. 
B., of New York city. The nuptials materialized 
in London without the much desired presence of 
Lord Dashy 

Phoebe had long since married Major Banks, the 
Coal King of the Lehigh Velley. This old gentle- 
man had been thrice married, but each time the 
wife had died childless. He had been a widower 
many years and was on the sunny side of sixty 
when a bachelor brother died in Salt City, leaving 
to the major extensive real-estate. It was upon 


l6S THE MAKING OE A MILLION ATrE. 


his trip to look after his property that Banks met 
Phoebe and she “ fell in love ” with him. She was 
not the girl to decline the proffered offer of becom- 
ing wife to the richest man in the Lehigh region. 
And married though she was, I had lost none of 
my regard for her. As for Phoebe, not unlike 
many fashionable women of that hour tied by 
business policy to a rich old fogy, she loved a man 
of her own age, and that man in my esteem was 
Lord Dashy. For did she not the very evening of 
her marriage, and preceding the day of her 
departure to her new home in the coal-fields, lay 
quivering and sobbing in my arms as together we 
occupied a secluded and darkened bow window in 
the house where over two hundred marriage guests 
whirled, twirled and whirled through dizzy-making 
terpsichorean flitterings? 

Thrice since had the Countess of Dashford writ- 
ten to me or sent a messenger beseeching me to 
eat my words upon atheism, and to come and take 
my place among the gentry of the island. But 
each time with mulish obstinacy I declined these 
offers, and repeated my oath to make all my rela- 
tives green with jealousy of my wealth and fame. 

My reputation as an extraordinary reporter was 
now known throughout and outside Salt City. 
Many editors sought to make in me an acquisition 
to their staff, but the Republican, unlike any other 
newspaper that I have ever since known of, knew 
how to appreciate a bonanza when it possessed 
one, so that at the end of twelve months I was in 


THE Making of a millionaire. 169 

receipt of a salary equal to that of any other re- 
porter in Salt City. 

Nevertheless I had a bee in my hat for promo- 
tion. Each afternoon after leaving the office at 
four o’clock, I would go to my apartments and 
pore over my educational text-books for hours and 
hours. Not a moment did I permit myself for 
theatre-going, downtown-strolling, horse-race or 
other race spectating, nor did I flitter away an in- 
stant with the ladies. 

Although I had been graduated from a well- 
known academy and from a university which held 
not less than second place among all the Roman 
Catholic universities of Canada, when it came to 
utilizing practically the knowledge which one is 
supposed to acquire at college I found I knew ac- 
tually nothing. So I promptly set to work to brush 
up what little I had learned and to study up the 
many subjects which I ought to have known. 

Before the year had expired I had studied ad- 
vanced French and had read Victor Hugo and Zola 
in the original language. I had translated all of Cae- 
sar’s Bellum G dlicum and the Orationesde Catalina. 
Of Greek, Algebra, Geometry and Physics, etc., etc., 
although I hated the very mention of their names, I 
had learned a vast deal, said my tutor (to whom, by 
the by, I was paying one dollar per hour for in- 
struction). 

It must not be imagined that I accomplished 
such results without mighty hard work. Night 
after night I sat at the table in my bedroom and 
held my aching head with one hand while with the 


170 THE MAKING OF A MILLIONAIRE. 


other I penciled on paper such characters as 
these : 

a^+5^^xcyz — ^d+y 
59 - 

How I hated my Greek nights. My geometry 
nights and the nights I had set aside for physics 
were many eternities long. But my French studies 
I found so interesting, particularly French novels, 
that not infrequently since I have wondered why 
the people with whom I boarded did not charge 
me extra for lamplight. 

Heretofore I had smoked cigarettes and cigars 
quite vehemently. Even while studying I would 
keep a lighted cigarette between my teeth. I can 
not assert that tobacco hurt my constitution in any 
way, but I do say I could enjoy reading much 
better when surrounded by a cloud of cozy tobacco 
smoke. 

But somewhere I saw this paragraph : 

“ Men love the scheme of atheism. And why 
not ? According to that plan a man can give full 
vent to his lustful passions, cheat, steal, swear, 
murder and covet all his lifetime in the conscious- 
ness that there is no Hell in which he may be pun- 
ished for his crimes. Atheists are conceited. Do 
they not claim to know more than all the learned 

doctors of the church put together ? 

Atheists are not honorable, nor have they any re- 
spect for their words ” 

* Of course it must have been some ignorant fana- 
tic who wrote these words. Yet it aroused my 


THE MAKING OE A MILLIONAIRE. I/I 

youthful ire, and loving the cigar as I certainly 
did, I nevertheless wrote on a sheet of paper a sim- 
ple statement worded as follows: 

''Declaration : Priding myself upon my adhesion 
to principle, I take this opportunity to test my sin- 
cerity of purpose. I make the following declara- 
tion so as to afford me an occasion of honoring my 
simple word : In re tobacco usage I hereby state 
that for all time to come I will abstain from using 
tobacco in the form of smoking it, either in cigar- 
ettes or in cigars or pipe form, neither will I chew 
the aforesaid article. 

“ Philip Daniels.” 

That identical paper lies upon my desk before 
me now, pinned to the sheet on which I wrote my 
“advance” declaration when leaving Boodleburg 
three years before. I have kept my word 

Now that I had reached the acme of sensational- 
izing, and had brushed literarily, I looked about me 
for a long time. My minute inquiries and obser- 
vations had fully convinced me before many 
months had gone that all that now remained for 
me to do before I could aspire to the dignity of edi- 
tor was to eat and drink only such things as fatten 
and raise an enormous stomach ; to sink into lazi- 
ness ; and to do all in my power to make myself 
crusty, conservative, cranky, and mulish. 

Not being particularly desirous of becoming an 
editor under such conditions, and having by this 
time saved quite a little money, I resigned my 
position with a determination “ to go West.” 


1^2 THE MAKING OF A MILLIONAIRE. 


Not having any definite plan of procedure, I de- 
cided to take in the siglits of New York, Boston, 
Philadelphia, Dirt-town, and the Western cities, 
<vand then possibly go to Australia, where I might 
get a financial start and win a good position in 
society’s sphere. While in New York city the idea 
suggested itself to me to go and see Phoebe Lloyd 
at her house in the coal country. 

The railway station nearest her home was a 
small affair, situated about seven miles from the 
thriving city of Such-a-Name, which owes its life 
to the coal-mine within its vicinity. For the sake 
of convenience, the village in which Phoebe resided 
will be called Blank, although that is not the name 
it bears upon the maps. 

The fast express whirled up to the station of 
Blank, while the usual large number of bare-foot 
boys and straw hatted men ceased the occupa- 
tions at which they were engaged to gaze for the 
thousandth time at an engine with a train of cars. 
The only persons around the depot were the 
baggage-man-train-despatcher-porter- ticket - agent- 
telegraph - operator - and-general -merchant-and-vil- 
lage post-master, all combined in one lump of mud, 
beside t vo or three badly freckled girls and half a 
dozen brown-legged boys who had strolled down 
to the station from lack of better occupation. At 
a distance from the station I saw a ponderous- 
looking carriage upon the box of which sat a 
liveried negro as still as a statue. Phoebe sat back 
among the cushions. 

Eagerly I hurried to the side of the carriage and 


THE MAKING A MILLIONAIRE. 


173 


extended to her my hand. She took it between 
both her gloved hands and gave it a most agree- 
able squeeze. Sotto voce she muttered : “ Wel- 
come, dearest, darling,” but loud enough for the 
black coachmaato hear, “ Glad to see you. Lord 
Dashy, where did you come from last ? Major 
Banks will be here shortly. Then we can all drive 
home together.” 

The passengers had all embarked or debarked, 
and the train steamed from the station before 
Phoebe said aloud : “ Oh, what shall I do, the 
major has not come. It can’t be he has missed the 
train, as he always insists upon being at the station 
fully an hour previous to schedule time.” 

The baggage-man-train-despatcher-porter-ticket- 
agent-telegraph-operator-general-merchant-and-vil- 
1 ige-postmaster came to the side of the carriage 
and tipped his hat with : 

“ Beggin’ pardon, missus, dis telegram came half 
an hour before train time, and as you wasn’t 
around, I thought I’d wait till the train went out 
before I brung it up to your house.” 

The message read : “ Can’t get home to-day. 
Trust keeps me two weeks longer.” 

Ten words in that message. Where is the man 
who does not believe in getting the worth of his 
money and who will not plan and contrive for half 
an hour to get no more and no less than ten words 
into a telegram } 

Phoebe explained that two days previously the 
major had gone to Such-a-Name to participate in 
the formation of a coal-trust, with the expectation 


1/4 I'lIE MAKING OF A MILLIONAIRE, 
of arrivin^T home on the train for which I had found 

o 

her waiting. 

“ Good form,” she asked me, “allows a married 
lady to receive company at her home, even though 
her husband is detained elsewhere by an unfortu- 
nate accident ? You see, Lord Dashy, I am but a 
young inexperienced wife, and scarcely know what 
good form requires of me !” 

Being a young buck at this time it is unnecessary 
to write that I assured her “ Good form not only 
permits but precepts a married lady to entertain 
an old friend under all circumstances.” 

On the way home, as the carriage was an open 
one and the villagers as 
curious and gossipy as 
people in small towns in- 
variably are, Phoebe did 
not give me her hand to 
hold. As compensation 
for that privation she 
pressed her right knee 
close to my left and kept 
it in that position until 
the carriage drove up to 
her home. 

The weather was de- 
pressingly warm out- 
doors so that it was as 
a shower-bath of cool water to sit on a sofa in 
a cool shaded window of the spacious parlor. 
Secured from the view of every one else Phoebe 
embraced me and showered kisses upon every 



THE MAKING OF A MILLIONAIRE. 


75 


square inch of face that I was possessed of, and 
with her hands around my neck and her cheek 
against my breast told me repeatedly : 

“ What a delightful taste of Paradise it is to see 
you again, to have you near me once more ?” 

A negress brought in some ices. 

At dinner I occupied Major Bank’s place ; in the 
cool library afterwards I sat in his accustomed 
place. The softest bed in the house was the one 
in which the major slept when at home. Phoebe 
had told me that if I ‘‘would be good,” she would 
let me have that couch. I was very good. 

Never before had I passed a more pleasant time 
I told myself. Riding for miles with Phoebe in 
the morning, strolling through green woods, by 
babbling brooks, and waterfalls ; picking grapes 
and wild flowers with Phoebe in the afternoon, and 
in the evening rowing out on the expansive but 
placid and clear lake with Phoebe, while the queen 
of night lent a silvery hue to the banks, to the 
water, to our boat and oars, and ourselves. 

The weather never seemed finer than it was dur- 
ing that visit. Sometimes returning late from a 
row on the la:ke we would sit in a deep parlor win- 
dow ; I on a sofa and Phoebe on a stool at my 
knee. 

With guitar-self-accompaniment she would thrill 
me through with lovely old-fashioned songs, ren- 
dered by her sweet voice. Many a time since then 
has that voice been heard in the gilded drawing, 
rooms of upper Fifth Avenue in New York. 

Putting aside the guitar I would have Phoebe sit 


176 THE MAKING OF A MILLIONAIRE. 

by me on the sofa, and kisses and embraces were 
never enjoyed with better relish 

It was decidedly wrong for me to remain in 
Blank village. In fact I should not have come 
there in the first place. But Phoebe and I were 
both young and thoughtless, and although it was 
fashionable it was nevertheless unnatural that she 
should have been wedded to such an old man. 
Yet they were tied together by mutual agreement 
and by a solemn compact, and when a sudden 
thoug-ht struck me and I realized the unmanliness 
ol my behavior I took an immediate departure. 

Althougli an atheist I gre^itly respected the for- 
mal marriage ceremony of the Episcopalians or 
Roman Catholics. Marriage was to my mind a 
most holy institution, and the growing custom of en- 
tering into wedlock by a slipshod informal, hasty pro- 
ceeding was revolting to me. Atheist though I was 
I loved to hear the name “ God ” pronounced with 
most respectful tongue. I loved to hear children 
refuse to act wrongly, “ because it would displease 
God.” I loved to hear dear mothers teach their 
children “ God loves not those who do not right.” 
I loved to strive all my life to do only such 
things as Jesus would have done in my place. 

“ God ” to me meant “ good,” and supremely 
good was manhood. But I had highest contempt 
for such soul-savers who told the errer : 

“Come to Jesus; be saved; you’ll get a great 
mansion in Zion. Otherwise continue in the errors 
of your way, in the paths of unrighteousness; die 


THE MAKING OF A MILLIONAIRE. 


177 


a stranger to the Lord, and you’ll receive the most 
awful torments of Hell.” 

I could not then consider a person better than a 
coward wdio abstained from killing a fellow-being, 
from using the names of Jesus or God without 
respect, from becoming a drunkard, from adul- 
tery or from fornication, for the mere reason that 
his non-abstinence would cause his soul to be sent 
to suffer the most excruciating punishments of 
Hell should he die in the act 

With a letter of introduction from Phoebe to a 
journalistic relative of hers in Dirt-Town I boarded 
the next outgoing train without even kissing her 
good-bye. 


THE MAKING OF A MILLIONAIRE. 


EIGHTEENTH STRETCH. 

I MEET TWO GHOSTS. 

Should anybody ever ask me to compose a 
poem descriptively eulogistic of Pittsburg, Pa., I 
would write : 

Smoke and dirt, 

Dirt and smoke. 

Smoke and dirt, 

And smoke. 

Dirt and smoke, 

Smoke and dirt. 

Dirt and smoke. 

And dirt. 

Shop-windows inside and out, tall structures, 
small edifices, street-cars, signboards, men, women _ 
and children, everything is coated with soot. Be- 
fore I had walked ten blocks from the Union Depot 
my light-colored overcoat had the appearance it 
must have if worn for a week in a coal-mine. 

Vast numbers of Dirt-Towners wear glasses and 
spectacles. They do this under the impression 
that their eyes are imperfect, inasmuch as they find 
it impossible to distinguish each other upon the 
streets. But it is a delusion under which they suf- 
fer. It is the superabundant and ever present 


THE MAKING OF A MILLIONAIRE. 1 79 

smoke and soot that are to blame for the inability 
of one friend to recognize another on the streets. 

Notwithstanding all this smoking, however, by 
much police direction I eventually reached the 
Chronicle-Dispatch building, and after climbing 
up eight pair of stairs (for this was in the old pre- 
elevator days), I reached a landing from which I 
saw painted on a door the words : “ Editorial 
Rooms.” 

Through the doorway I passed and asked a re- 
porter where was Mr. Vanderastor, for such was 
Phoebe’s journalistic friend’s name. The desk of 
the editor-in-chief was pointed out to me. I pre- 
sented my letter. Vanderastor glanced it through 
and exclaimed : 

“ Delighted, sir, much delighted. When did you 
arrive } How is my dear Phoebe ? Ah, I see,” he 
continued, as I gave him the grip of the Greek let- 
ter fraternity of which I had become a member at 
the university of Salt City. ‘‘A. D. K. E. are you? 
Well, this is grand.” 

Not only was Vanderastor a Delta Kappa Epsi- 
lon but he had the grip of the T. N. E. also ; 
furthermore, although he had graduated from 
Princeton he had passed both freshman and sopho- 
more years at Salt City university. This made us 
old friends at once. It was two thirty o’clock 
when I had come in, and as he would not be re- 
lieved until four o’clock, we had quite a little visit. 
His apartments were at the Deak Club which was 
modelled after the Greek-letter boarding clubs of 
university days, with the exception that the ruein- 


8o 


THE MAKING OF A MILLIONAIRE. 


bership of the Deak Club embodied both ladies and 
gentlemen. 

At dinner I sat by Vanderastor. There were in 
the dining-room two rows of tables, each having 
seating capacity for four persons, and at the head 
of the first of these, with my back to the door lead- 
ing to the hallway, I could observe all the room. 
Coming in late, most of the tables were occupied, 
but as I glanced down the rows everybody seemed 
a stranger to me. A youngish looking man with a 
full beard and overgrown hair had an atmosphere 
about him, however, which made me think I must 
have seen him somewhere before. But I could not 
catch his eye as he gazed at the table apparently 
lost in thought. By his side sat a lady whose back 
was turned in my direction, and these two occupied 
the table nearest the doorway leading to the ser- 
vants’ hall. Distract my thoughts as I tned my 
eyes would wander back to that man, and I would 
wonder every minute where I had seen him before, 
but I could not place him in my memory. 

Vanderastor was a handsome fellov/, probably 
fifty years of age. He parted his hair in the cen- 
tre, wore gold-rimmed eyeglasses and a black silk 
four-in-hand in which was imbedded a costly-look- 
ing diamond pin. On the little finger of the right 
hand he sported a large diamond with a massive 
gold setting. He was graceful and polite to a dot ; 
attentive, pert and smart, “ just such a man as cap- 
tures a woman’s heart,” thought I. He was un- 
married, he told me, “and wouldn’t be bothered 
with a woman any way.” 


THE MAKING OF A MILLIONAIRE. .l8l 

Though last to come in to dinner, we were 
among the first to leave the room, and as we stood 
in the portiered bay-window, and looked out at the 
thronged street cars passing up the avenue, I asked 
Vanderastor : 

“ Who is that youngish-looking man with the fuii 
beard ?” 

“ Oh,” said Vanderastor as he struck a match for 
a cigarette, “ that’s a stupid English fellow named 
Tyrrell, who sells brass checks to the newsboys at 
the Chronicle-Dispatch office. He has a pretty 
wife, though, damned pity she ever married him. 
He hangs around the churches most of the time he 
is not in the office — which is not long — and prays 
to God to make him managing editor or something 
of that sort so that he might pay his wife’s jewelry 
and dress-goods bills. She’s a dandle, though, full 

of fun, and makes an excellent but never mind 

that now.” 

Excusing himself for a moment soon afterwards, 
Vanderastor went to his room. Presently the 
youngish-looking man entered the parlor, remon- 
strating with the woman who had sat by him at 
the table : 

“ It’s no use, dear ; it bleeds my heart to say it, 
but you can’t go on at this rate. Thirty dollars for 
a new bonnet ! Good God, do you want to drive 
me mad ? I now owe more than I can ever expect 
to pay. Can’t you see how the matter stands, dear. 
We’ll be driven out of this place in less than a 
month if you continue at this pace.” 

The voice was unmistakable. Parting the cush- 


1^2 THE MAKING OF A MILLIONAIRE. 


ions I stepped into view. “ Great Caesar,” I ex- 
claimed, “how did you come here, Clarence?” 

The woman was Florence Rich. 

Their astonishment at my apparition was un- 
bounded. Florence sank into a chair. Clarence 
steadied himself byj:he table, but hearing footsteps 
in the hallway, he hastily glided over to me and 
whispered entreatingly : 

“ Don’t give us away, Philip, 1 am Charles 
Tyrrell ; Florence is my wife.” 

Vanderastor entered the room again, and seeing 
me talking to Tyrrell called out : 

“Ah, acquainted already, Lord Dashy !” 

“ Lord Dashy !” simultaneously exclaimed Flor- 
ence and Clarence. 

“ Why, yes,” I exclaimed, “ since I saw you last, 
my grandfather, the Earl of Dashford, hasvbeen 
gathered to his fathers. I am now heir apparent 
to the earldom.” 

“ Oh, ho,” chimed in Vanderastor, “ old friends 
are you? and meet again by chance? How ro- 
mantic. If you’ll excuse me. Lord Dashy, I’ll 
drop in to see Carmencita at the Grand for an 
hour or so, while you compare notes with your 
newly found friends.” He went off leaving Flor- 
ence, Clarence, and me, to give accounts of our- 
selves. 

A young priest had pestered Florence with his 
attentions and love-making at every opportunity 
while she was in the convent, and finally meeting 
her alone in a corridor of the hallway early one 
morning he attempted to kiss her. But Florence 


THE MAKING OF A MILLIONAIRE. 183 

promptly boxed his ears, and slapped his face 
energetically, telling him : 

“ If you don’t go about your business, I’ll give 
you a mark which you will not get rid of in a 
hurry.” 

The saintly priest reported to the directress that 
Florence had attempted to kiss him in the corridor 
and had called him a miserable crank because he 
had evaded her. A jury of nuns were appointed 
to look into the matter. Florence denied the allega- 
tion of the priest of course and explained that he 
had caught her in his arms and had tried to kiss her, 
but that she had slapped his face and told him she 
would brand him with a red-hot poker if he didn’t 
keep away from her. In holy terror and astonish- 
ment they threw up their hands crying : “ The 
infernal liar !” 

Florence was condemned to pass a year in a 
dungeon of the nunnery, and the other nuns were 
forbidden intercourse with her. The person who 
brought her three scanty meals daily was a 
shrivelled up, bent shouldered old mm who had 
seen his seventieth year and who was employed to 
drive the mother superioress whenever she needed 
such service. 

Florence bribed this old fellow to mail in some 
post-office a letter written in a cipher known only 
to Clarence and herself. Clarence received the 
letter without interception as he had not yet taken 
his life vows in the Brain Lessites. Less then a 
week later with the assistance of a gang of hired 
toughs he got over the high walls surrounding the 


184 the making of a millionaire. 


convent and liberated Florence through the window 
from which they had sawn the bars. 

The inheritance of Sir Blue-Blood’s estate which 
Florence had signed off upon entering the religious 
order was irretrievably gone. Clarence sold all 
his belongings and amassed only a trifle thereby, 
and as they were ashamed to remain in Boodle- 
burg where they were known and for this reason 
would be anything but popular, with about as much 
choice as I had when going to Salt City, they came 
to Dirt-Town, where, unfit for anything better, 
Clarence procured employment as cl-rk in the 
offlrce of the Chronicle-Dispatch. 

It was nearly midnight when we had finished 
comparing notes and Florence went out to get 
some chocolate. In her absence I asked Clarence 
how he was fixed financially : 

I have only one hundred and fifteen dollars to 
my name,” I said, “ but, Clarence, if I can help you 
any with so small a sum, mention the amount.” 

With a heart-broken sigh Clarence thanked me : 

“ Philip,” he said, “ I am very grateful to you ; 
but my heart is broken. I have done my level 
best to raise myself in the world, but before I have 
earned my week’s salary it is gone to buy a new 
gown or hat or ring or something else for Florence. 
Time and again I have besought her to economize, 
and each time she has assured me she would ; yet 
at the end of the week the bills come in in just as 
large quantities as before. I love her too dearly to 
refuse to pay for her many unnecessary purchases, 
until now I am in debt to the extent of some three 


THE MAKING OF A MILLIONAIRE. 1 85 

hundred dollars. I love her as of old, Philip, when 
we four played tennis on Sir Blue-Blood’s estate ; 
but I fear Florence has ceased to love me since I 
have remonstrated with her for her many expend- 
itures.” 

Hearing the rattle of cups as they slide over the 
saucers we temporarily terminated our conversation. 
Florence poured out the chocolate and chatted as 
gayly as if nothing in the world existed to trouble 
her, addressing Clarence as “ dear old boy,” pet,” 
“dearest,” etc. 

Vanderastor returned from the opera-house just 
then and partook of the chocolate, and it was after 
one o’clock when he turned off the incandescent 
light as he left me in his own bed and retired to 
his own temporary bed on a lounge. 


l86 THE MAKING OF A MILLIONAIRE. 


THE TWENTIETH SECTION. 

THE HOME OF THE SELF-MADE AMERICAN MIL- 
LIONAIRE, AS IT REALLY IS. 

Clarence had had his breakfast next morning 
and had gone to his office before Vanderastor and I 
came into the dining-room. After breakfasting, 
as Florence had not yet come down, I boarded a 
street car to go out and have a glimpse of my 
cousin Michael O’Reilly. 

I have never mentioned anything of Michael 
O’Reilly before this chapter, for although he was 
chiefly responsible for my being born in Pittsburg 
I did not wish to annoy you by description of a 
man who has had no interest in this story until 
now. 

Michael O’Reilly, at eighteen years of age, was 
a private in the company of which his distant 
cousin, my father, was lieutenant. O’Reilly got 
himself into a serious scrape, and having been ex- 
pelled from the army would likely have passed the 
remainder of his life-time in a prisoner’s cell were 
it not for the trouble my father took to have his 
sentence commuted to transportation for life. 

O’Reilly came to America with money given 
him by Lieut. Daniels. The discovery of oil wells 
was at that time making Pittsburg a Mecca for 


THE MAKING OF A MILLIONAIRE. 1 87 

speculators. Among the laborers who came to 
Pittsburg was O’Reilly. He was soon on the po- 
lice force, and one night while assisting in raiding 
an illicit still he succeeded in hiding enough of 
the whisky to start him in the saloon business. 
Shortly afterwards he resigned from the police 
force and started one of the thousand so-called 
“hotels” in the oil-fields. These hotels were 
patronized by the roughest classes of laborers and 
prospectors. 

One morning an unknown prospector was found 
dead in bed in O’Reilly’s hotel, by O’Reilly him- 
self. Before the body was turned over to the 
police, O’Reilly had turned his own police experi- 
ence to advantage by quickly appropriating to his 
own person the five thousand dollars in bills he 
had found in a leathern belt around the dead 
man’s waist, and to destroy all possible clues to his 
identity. 

These were wild days of hurry and bustle in 
that section, and when O’Reilly bought a large 
field and struck a phenomenal well everybody con- 
gratulated him, but suspected nothing. 

At the time that Lieut. Daniels eloped to 
America with the daughter of Earl Dashford^ 
O’Reilly’s name was on every American tongue on 
account of a magnificent institution he had be- 
queathed to the people of New York city. 

In view of the turn my father had done O Reilly 
in the old days, he did not think it out of the way 
to call on O’Reilly to ask him for a “ lift.” But 
O’Reilly was out of town then, and in reply to my 


THE MAKING OF A MIELTONATRF. 


father’s letter, O’Reilly answered from Bermuda, 
with a thin note to say he would “ fix him up ” 
when he got home. 

But somehow O’Reilly did not seem to be get- 
ting back very rapidly, and my father being unable 
to secure any other kind of work in such a rough 
town set to labor as a hod-carrier, and although he 
again wrote to his cousin O’Reilly to say how low 
he had descended, O’Reilly did not remember to 
reply, until my father had secured a position in 
the Canadian civil service, by means of quite a dif- 
ferent channel and acquainted O’Reilly by letter 
of the event. It was not until then explained by 
O’Reilly that the letters father had written him 
had been received and answered by his secretary 
without his personal knowledge. But as O’Reilly 
was of the lower peasant class of Irish and my 
father of the better class, it did not take him long 
to see through the scheme of O’Reilly’s. Not- 
withstanding all this, however, several formal let- 
ters of invitation did pass between the two families 
up to the time I left home, and being then in 
O’Reilly’s city and being quite eager to learn how 
it felt to be a guest at the home of a real live and 
well known millionaire, I determined to call on my 
my father’s cousin O’Reilly. 

I had long supposed that all millionaires were 
dwellers in costly brown stone mansions, with 
large wide rooms, velvet carpets, dark colored an- 
tique furniture, spotless linen on the beds, and on 
the windows lace curtains that were dreams : mao-- 
nificent books with splendid bindings on the 


THE MAKING OF A MILLIONAIRE. 1 89 

shelves of the library, superb blue china on the 
cabinets, elegant gold and silver tableware, with 
silent, obsequious servants, gliding back and for- 
ward through the hallways, and a general atmos- 
phere of heavy dignity about the entire house. 

O’Reilly himself I expected to see sitting in a 
rocker by the fire-place in the library, holding in 
his hands the chart of an oil-field which he pre- 
tended to be studying through intransparent eye- 
glasses, trimmed with gold, with golden chain 
attached, and which he momentarily feared w'ould 
topple off and let me know he only affected them 
and only perched them on his nose when he 
w^anted to show how refined and literary he neces- 
sarily must be. 

Mrs. O’Reilly I expected would be a portly old 
lady with w'hite hair, with a lorgnette lying in her 
lap within easy reach, ready to be caught up and 
looked through the moment anybody should come 
wdthin sight of her. 

As for the daughter of O’Reilly and his two 
grown up sons, 1 did not expect that they would 
be at home, but making calls and driving in the 
park 

In all of my expectations I was disappointed. 
The O’Reilly residence was a four-story brick 
building, all the exterior walls of which were black 
with coats of soot. 

I pulled the bell and fished for my card. The 
door opened full and suddenly, and my nose met 
the strong fumes of frying ham and eggs. 

The person who answered the door-bell was 9. 


jgO THE MAKING OF A MII.LIONATRE. 

tall, thin, low-foreheaded, curly-haired man, with 
crossed eyes and an impudent stare. In place of 
the elegant livery I expected to see, the butler. 
Mister Scully (for so he was named by all the in- 
mates I afterwards learned) was attired only in a 
coarse undershirt, gray stockings, carpet slippers, 
and a pair of baggy trowsers. No coat, vest, or 
linen. 

As I handed my card I felt my eyes bulge, for 
Mister Scully grabbed the card in his own hand, 
and reading my name aloud looked at me in an in- 
different, patronizing fashion and said : 

“ An’ who be ye wantin’ to see, sor ?” 

But just at that moment some one who was look- 
ing over Mister Scully’s shoulder sprang forward 
and pushing him aside, shouted : 

“ Get out of the w^ay, ye fool ye.” 

Then she threw her arms about me and smoth- 
ered me with kisses, saying all the while : 

“Oh, me dear Philly, trot’ an’ I’m glad to see 
ye !” 

She was tall, slender, eyebrowless, and chinless, 
and the expression of her eyes reminded one of a 
sheep standing in the market-place waiting to be 
sold and not knowing nor caring what was to be 
done with her. Her costly light-blue silk wrapper 
had three or four grease spots in conspicuous places, 
and although evidently made for the wearer fitted 
her as snugly as a potato-bag fits the lamp post on 
which it is hung to dry. 

This was my cousin Miriam whom I had never 
geen before, but who had written all the letters 


THE MAKING OF A MILLIONAIRE. I91 

which had passed between the O’Reilly’s and my 
f.imily, as neither her father nor mother was able 
to do more with a pen than make their mark, al- 
though it must be said their mark carried a good 
deal of weight with it. 

Miriam dragged me into the hallway and shout- 
ing to his nibs, Mr. Scully, to shut the door, took 
my hands and dragged me towards what I pre- 
sumed would be the drawing-room, and bursting 
open the door she fairly dragged me into the 
room. 

The room was nothing more nor less than her 
mother’s bed-chamber. It was now about noon 
and intensely hot out-doors. The curtains were 
drawn tightly, and Mrs. O’Reilly was lying in bed 
sleeping, dressed in all her house clothing. 

Leaving me in the centre of the room cousin 
Miriam sprang to the bed, and grasping her mother 
by the shoulder shook her frantically, shouting all 
the while : 

“ Oh, mammy, Philip is here ! I knowed he was 
coming. I dreamt he was.” 

Mrs. O’Reilly rolled over on her back, and opening 
her eyes in an indifferent fashion as though accus- 
tomed to being aroused by this modus operandi, 
yawned lazily, not catching sight of me as yet. 

Philip is here ? De hell, you say ! an’ who de 
divil is Philip T' 

“Who is Philip, you ask me !” replied Miriam, 
in genuine astonishment, “ and who else could it 
be after bein’ but me darlint cousin, Philip Daniels, 
from Qttoway, Canada ?” 


192 


THE MAKING OF A MILLIONAIRE. 


Arrah, sign of the holy cross of Jesus about 
me,” broke in Mrs. O’Reilly, rubbing her eyes to 
take out the sleep. “ Didn’t I drame in my sleep 
that the same brot’ of a boy was cornin’ to see his 
auntie Bridget ? Bring him in, Miri, bring him in 
quick to see his auntie, but wait a minute till I am 
after brushin’ up my hair a wee bit, and then bring 
in, me jewel.” 

Learning from the daughter that I was already 
in the room and looking at her, my soi-disant 
aunt rolled off the bed, and plunging in my direc- 
tion threw her arms about my neck and almost de- 
voured me with countless kisses. 

Mrs. O’Reilly was tall and stout without being 
fat, and her magnificent head and splendid figure 
would not have ill become Hippolite herself. 

Mrs. O’Reilly was really beautiful, but oh, the 
dirt and filth ! Her towering head was adorned by 
a mass of greyish black hair, which looked and 
smelt as though it had been soaking for hours in 
melted stale butter. She was dressed in a tight 
wrapper of dark blue silk with white dots, but the 
odor of beer and tobacco seemed to flow from 
every crease and scam of her garments ; and as for 
her finger-nails — Whew ! 

She half carried me to the drawing-room, and 
here she placed me in a low rocker of blue and red 
plush, with one of those ponderous instruments of 
neck-torture called “ Head Rests.” 

Then she sat bolt upright on a sofa, and folding 
her arms before her settled herself for a close 
scrutiny of my face, 


THE MAKING OF A MILLIONAIRE. 


93 


Cousin Miriam promptly went to a tuneless 
organ and began banging something which I at 
first feared might be a Beethoven Sonato, but of 
this dread I was quickly relieved, for Mrs. O’Reilly 
herself soon informed me, with a knowing conde- 
scension, it was a piece of Shakespeare’s named : 
“ No one to love me, none to caress.” 

Hardly had the final bars of the ditty been killed 
away, Mrs. O’Reilly jumped to her feet, with evi- 
dently a sudden thought. Holding her hand on 
her hip and the other under her chin, she spoke 
aloud to herself with animation : 

Well, the divil’s squirt to me anyhow. (Lit., the 
devil is secured tome, i. e. has me in his possession), 
if it isn’t meself that is setting down on me back- 
side enjuyin’the tune and the sight of me nevview, 
an’ nary a word have I axed him, if it’s hungry he 
is at all, at all. Well, be me faith, it takes Bridget 
O’Reilly, the daughter of a forgitful woman, to be 
after forgitting the comfurt of her own guists. 
Come along me, bochal, and shure it’s hungry ye 
must be when yer afther travelling all the way from 
Canaday.” 

Getting behind me and laying a dirty hand on 
each of my shoulders, Mrs. O’Reilly pushed me 
into the hallway, through the dining-room, and 
into the kitchen. 

This was a large and square well-lighted room, 
with a large cooking stove near the centre of one 
wall ; a truck table to the left of the stove ; a large 
open cupboard upon the rough shelves of which 
were disorderly arranged the most dreamy china I 


194 


THE MAKING OF A MILLIONAIRE. 


had ever hoped to see. But although there was a 
full set of dishes there were scarcely three cups, 
saucers, and plates to match each other, and when 
I observed to Mrs. O'Reilly what a danty combin- 
ation she had made of her china set, she only re- 
marked with a disinterested shrug that : 

“There’s nawthing like children for the t. reaking 
of expinsive dinner sets. Faith, if I do say it me- 
self of me own brats, if it wasn’t so coarse an’ in- 
fashionable Fd be afther gittin’ thim all a tin plate 
and saucer, and a little tin cup, to dhrink their tay, 
for its piles of spondulix Fd be afther saving instid 
of throwing away money at the crockery-man’s 
store.’ 

There was a long rough table near the right wall 
of the kitchen. It was covered by nothing but a 
piece of worn oilcloth with here and there the 
mark of a knife, where kindling wood had probably 
been cut, and in other places the spots left from 
the overturning of a gravy dish. 

Mrs. O’Reilly placed me in a seat at the end of 
this table, and then looking about the kitchen, 
seemed to discover that someone she wanted was 
not there. 

Swearing a little in Irish, I believe, Mrs. O’Reilly 
turned to me with a provoked smile, quite visible 
through the coat of soot on her face, and said 
quite good-naturedly : 

“ An’ did ye ever say the loike of the present 
giniration of servant gorls we are having at all, at 
all. There’s that strumpet of a greenhorn, that I 
sent for all the way to Donegal, It’s seven dollars 


THE MAKING OF A MILLIONAIRE. 


19^ 

a month and board that Fm giving her, and help- 
ing her with the work besides, but instid of staying 
in the kitchen and washing the pots, Fll go bail 
she’s out on the strate sparking with some peeler, 
the spalpeen.” 

I ventured what I thought was a diplomatic sug- 
gestion that a simple piece of bread and butter 
would be quite sufficient for me, ending up with, 
“for really, Mrs. O’Reilly, I am scarcely hungry 
at all.” 

Mrs. O’Reilly was walking in the direction of the 
kitchen door when I began to speak, but when I 
had finished my suggestion, she turned on her heel 
and actually frightened me by shouting, with face 
suddenly red : 

Mrs. O’Reilly,’ did ye say? ‘ Mrs. O’Reilly,’ 
did I hear ye ? Be the Holy St. Pathrick, but it’s 
fine airs ye are puttin’ on. ‘ Mrs. O’Reilly,’ did 
you call me ?” She went on getting hotter and 
hotter in her indignation. “ Arrah, but it’s a nice 
how do ye do when a decent woman’s nevview be- 
gins to callin’ her ‘ Mrs. O’Reilly.’ ” 

She paused for breath and I was hoping her 
wrath was expended. But not by any means was 
I to be let off so lightly for my faux pas. With a 
fiercer gleam in her eyes, Mrs. O’Reilly came to- 
wards me and shouted : 

“ ‘ Mrs. O’Reilly ’ to yer auntie, indade ! Faith, 
Fll go bail that the next thing ye’ll be axing me to 
do is to be afther calling me own nevview, Mr. 
Philip Daniels.” 

Then at the thought of the absurdity of calling 


96 THE MAKING OF A MILLIONAIRE. 


me by that dignity, Mrs. O’Reilly fairly yelled with 
laughter. 

I was in a scrape no doubt, I admitted, but 
cousin Miriam came to my aid. 

“ Arrah, mammy, me dear,” she broke in, shure 
it’s not airs the boy avick is after puttin’ on at all, 
at all, but the poor boy is doing things as they 
always do them in Canada.” 

This seemed to pacify I^nRs. O'Reilly completely, 
and Miriam whispered to me afterwards that to 
pacify her mother at any time it was only necessary 
for an educated person to use the brogue. 

Finally the kitchen girl, Bridget O’Flaherty, was 
discovered by her mistress, not in “ coortin’ wit’ a 
peeler, the spalpeen ” but in the act of kneeling in 
the grass of the back-yard, telling her beads for 
the “ sufferin’ souls in purgitrey.” 

The saucepan was cleaned out, and while Mrs. 
O’Reilly herself with^ one hand cooked the ham 
and eggs, with the other she combed the hair of 
her four-year-old daughter who stood by the stove 
where her mother could perform both duties simul- 
taneously. There were others in truth to comb 
the child’s hair, and others to cook the eggs, but 
the child was an impudent, saucy miss, and would 
allow no one but her mother to comb her hair, and 
on the other hand Mrs. O’Reilly wanted to im- 
press “ her nevviewthat if the Lord had made of her 
a wealthy woman now she was wahnst a good cook, 
an’ her money didn’t make her lose that good 
vartue.” 

When the ham and eggs were cooked they were 


THE MAKING OF A MILLIONAIRE. igy 

placed before me, and Mrs. O’Reilly and her daugh- 
ter, who sat at the table on either side, indignantly 
refused to be helped- to some of the ham. Mrs. 
O’Reilly saying in conclusion : If I didn’t loike her 
cookin’ I could lave it on the plate. 

There was neither linen table-cover nor napkin 
on the table, and as I feared to incur the wrath of 
Mrs. O’Reilly again, I did not once hint about the 
absence of either. But I had just half finished my 
meal with the two women looking at me like mon- 
keys as they watched every mouthful I ate, when 
Mrs. O’Reilly suddenly blurted out : 

“ Arrah, the forgitful woman that ye ahre agin, 
Bridget O’Reilly. Won’t ye be afther having a 
napkin to ate your dinner wit, me own dear nev- 
view ?” 

Summoning up strength I replied in the affirma- 
tive, and then Mrs. O’Reilly handed her daughter 
a key from her pocket, and with minute instruc- 
tions sent her to the trunk. Miriam returned 
twenty minutes later with one of those elegant 
hem-stitched napkins, whose stiffness and folds 
showed plainly it had never before been put into 
usage. Shortly afterwards we adjourned to the 
dining-room. 

The dining-room was a tall, wide chamber, covered 
with a much soiled, costly carpet, and the Irish point- 
lace curtains on the windows were black above the 
window-sills from years’ accumulation of soot, but 
from the window-sills downwards the curtains were 
stiff and brown from the tobacco juice which had 


198 THE MAKING OF A MILLIONAIRE. 


been spit upon them daily and nightly for many 
months. 

A small card-table in the centre of the room^ 
with a magnificent black walnut sideboard covered 
not with dishes, but hats, stockings, shoes and old 
newspapers ; a large leather lounge with marks 
where the children had pushed their knives 
through ; several rockers and blue and red plush 
chairs ; and an elegant oak bookcase filled with 
those books one sees in pedlers’ hands, these con- 
stituted the furniture of this “dining-room.’’ 

Scarcely had I been seated in this room when 
O’Reilly himself rolled in 
and flopped down into a 
large rocker which creaked 
incessantly with his enor- 
mous bulk. He was two 
hundred and fifly pounds 
in weight, apparently, and 
his hair and beard were 
cut close, except for a 
single strip of gray hair, an 
inch in width, which began 
at his lower lip and ended 
two inches below his fat 
chin. As for the expres- 
sion of his round, fat face, 
it was not unlike that of a fourteen-year-old bull. 

Michael O Reilly was now probably about fifty- 
three years old. He was chronically perspiring^ 
and as he rolled in from the hot sun to-day he 
looked as though he would melt. When introduced 



THE MAKING OF A MILLIONAIRE. 


199 


to me he simply nodded his head, and said with an 
air as though he had been meeting me every day 
of his life, “ How de ye do, sonny? It’s lookin* 
well yez are.” 

He had pulled off his coat and vest as he had 
come into the room, and these with his hat and 
hickory stick he threw on the sideboard. Soon he 
called out for his daughter, who was now in the 
kitchen : “ ’Riam, ’Riam, come here, me darlint, 
and take off me shoes.” 

Miriam came in immediately and without the 
slighest movement to show she was unaccustomed 
to the task knelt down on both knees, and half 
singing and half humming the air of “ Come Back 
to Erin,” she unlaced and pulled off the heavy shoes 
of her father, who conversed with his wife about the 
business he had been attending to, and seemed to 
be utterly oblivious of the fact that a stranger was 
present, and that his daughter was degrading her- 
self in plain sight. 

If I was surprised at O’Reilly when he instructed 
his daughter to take off his shoes, I was simply 
astonished when he followed this by a request that 
she divest him of his woolen stockings. This task 
she did also, and then without waiting to be bade 
took off his collar and necktie, opened his shirt, and 
actually unfastened the three top buttons of his 
trousers ! Soon afterwards O’Reilly threw into 
the grate the cigar he had been smoking, and then 
standing up in his bare feet, pulled- off his top shirt, 
threw it over a chair near by, and pulled out an 
expensive meerschaum pipe from his trousers 


200 


THE MAKING OF A MILLIONAIRE. 


pocket, and cutting off a pipeful of tobacco from a 
plug in another pocket, filled the meerschaum, and 
soon had the room thick with smoke. 

He talked most of the time, but confined his re- 
marks chiefly to telling his wife the jokes he had 
been playing on the members of the political con- 
vention at which he had been attending in a city 
several miles away. Now and then he would make 
some query about my family, and finally, as it was 
nearly dark, he put away his pipe and asked me 
cordially. 

“ And now wouldn’t yez be afther partaking of 
a glass of beer? It is thirsty I am as the ould boy 
himsilf, and I’ll go bail you are that same way 
yerself.” 

Then suddenly raising his voice, which was at a 
shout as it was, he called out in the direction of 
the hallway: “Paddy! Misther Scully! Paddy! 
fetch me up a gallon of ale.” And then as though 
struck with a sudden thought, he cried : “ And a 
quart bottle of Mumm’s dhry, me boy, a good big 
quart, and put it on ice for me nevview, Mr. 
Daniels.” 

Attired as they had been all afternoon, and 
without even washing their hands, Mr. O’Reilly, 
his wife, and his grown-up and child daughters, sat 
down to a dinner in the kitchen, which must have 
cost with the champagne at least one quarter of a 
hundred dollars, and yet there was no cloth on the 
table, and the only one who had a napkin was 
myself. Indeed there came near being a storm of 
Irish curses when Miriam asked her father, if he 


THE MAKING OE A MILLIONAIRE. 


20 i 

would not care for a napkin. “ The airs she’s 
afther puttin’ on, be jabers, would make a man 
think he’s for going out to a party.” 

Dinner over, the five of us adjourned directly to 
the drawing-room, where I was inveigled into a 
game of euchre with O’Reilly, while his wife and 
daughters looked on through the games without 
offering or being offered by O’Reilly to take a 
hand, and I was too fearful of raising a row to 
invite them myself to participate. 

Several times during the evening I arose to take 
my departure, but with the increasing number of 
attempts I made to get away came the increasing 
belief that I was in for a night of it, and that they 
were determined I must pass the night beneath 
their roof. 

I began to notice a kind of half expressed desire 
on the part of O’Reilly that I would understauvd 
that his daughter’s hand was disengaged, and that 
perhaps I might have it for the asking. 

It was nearly midnight when the cards were 
pushed aside and the company settled down for a 
little musical entertainment. Beer and champagne 
with hard smelling “ stogies ” were brought in by 
Mister Scully, and cousin Miriam sat down before 
the tuneless organ and sang three songs in succes- 
sion without a perceptible break. One was : 

“ Mrs. McSorley had two pretty twins, 

An' two fat little divils they were ; 

Wit their squallin' and ballin’ the whole blessed night, 
It would deafen you I do declare.” 

The others were equally as classical, and when 


202 


THE MAKING OE A MILLIONAIRE^ 


I had applauded as I thought safety compelled me 
to do, I was unceremoniously led off to my bed- 
room by cousin Miriam herself. 

This bed-room was luxuriously furnished with 
black walnut chairs, rockers, sofa, and a lounge, all 
of which had black leather facings. The china on 
the washstand was a dream, and the French mirror 
between the windows, was the most magnificent I 
had ever seen. The bed-clothes were of the finest 
Irish linen, and the counterpane and curtains of 
exquisite lace. But oh ! the dirt and smell of that 
room ! The bed-linen had not been changed for 
months, the carpet had not been swept in ages, and 
the color of the furniture was completely disguised, 
in the coats of dust and soot that clung to every 
inch of it. 

There was no water in the pitcher, and no bath- 
room in the house, and when I ventured to call 
Mrs. O’Reilly’s attention to the absence of water, 
she only replied good-naturedly : 

“ An ’shure it’s meself that is knowin’ there’s no 
wahter in the room at all, at all ; for bejabers I never 
lave it there. Wahnst I used to lave a pitcher of 
clane water in the rooms ivery wake, but the boys 
and gals used to take the water to wash their 
hands and faces instid of going down to the tap in 
the kitchen, an’ so I bethought I’d be afther lettin’ 
thim do without wahter at all, at all, unless they 
were sick in bed, and not supple enough to go 
down to the kitchen.” 

As I said good-night I noticed a red train of 
bed-bugs stealing quietly across the pillows that 


THE MAKING OF A MILLIONAIRE. 203 

were to be mine for the night and this hastened me 
in my determination to skip out as soon as the 
house was quiet. 

After pressing the feather bed to make believe I 
had slept in it, and after rubbing off some of the dust 
from a chair to make believe I had used the chair 
also, I tore a leaf from my note-book and wrote a 
note to Mrs. O’Reilly saying I was so sleepless 
that I had decided to walk in the near-by park. 
And I added that as I was to leave town at ten 
o’clock that morning I would be unable to see her 
again before departure, but would stop in again 
the first time 1 could get back to Dirt-Town. 
Then with my shoes under my arm I sneaked down 
the stairs to the front door, and let myself out like 
a thief. 


204 


THE MAKING OF A MILLIONAIRE. 


THIS IS NUMBER TWENTY-ONE. 

THE END OF CLARENCE DEWDNEY. 

Vanderastor’S apartments at the Deak Club 
consisted of two rooms. The outer chamber 
which he used as a sleeping place was entered by a 
door at the end of the hallway on the second floor, 
and the other compartment, used for smoking room, 
private parlor, reading-room and such like pur- 
poses, was entered through another door-way open- 
ing in the same hall. A doorless but curtained 
door-way gave direct communication between these 
chambers. 

As I came back to the club next day about two 
o’clock, having overslept myself at the hotel to 
which I had gone on leaving the O’Reillys, I found 
the place quiet and apparently deserted. I went 
to Vanderastor’s apartments, and I saw and heard 
enough during the two hours that followed to 
warrant me beyond a question of doubt in notify- 
ing Clarence that Florence was unfaithful to him. 

The dinner-gong soon rang, and Florence went 
down to the dining-room. Then I took up my hat 
and stick and walked out into the street. Resolv- 
ing not to say anything until I should see Clarence 
I came in to dinner in the expectation of finding 
him at the table. 


THE MAKING OF A MILLIONAIRE. 205 

Clarence was not there and Vanderastor asked 
me what had kept me away so long. I replied 
shortly that I had been to see a friend in the East 
End. 

Clarence was not at dinner, neither had he been 
home to lunch, and Florence assured me she felt 
“ real worried about him.” 

In the Evening Press, an hour later I read that 
the body of a well-dressed unknown man had been 
found by some bargemen, floating in the Monon- 
gahela river that afternoon. In the breast pocket 
of the drowned man’s coat was a card-case contain- 
ing twenty-five .or thirty calling cards bearing the 
name “ Clarence Dewdney.” 


2o6 the making ok a millionaire. 


NUMBER XXII. 

HOW I AMASSED MILLIONS. 

From the personal investigation I quietly made 
I learned that Clarence had committed suicide that 
afternoon. The toll-taker had seen him. jump into 
the river from the Smithfield street bridge. It 
was I who identified the corpse and paid for the 
burial, and without as much as bidding either Flor- 
ence or Vanderastor adieu, I went to the Union 
depot and purchased a ticket for Cleveland. 

As the train was not to start for two or three 
hours, I sat down on one of the benches and 
thought and thought. All the chief events of my 
past life came before my mind in turn : The time 
when I was a school-boy, the time when I was a 
printer’s devil, when I fell in love, of my visit to 
Sir Blue-Blood’s, of Sybil’s elopement, and of my 
being turned away from home. Recounting the 
advances I had made from the time of writing the 
statement with which I had begun my new career 
up to the present time, I could not hide from my- 
self the fact, that although I had worked really 
conscientiously, I had not accomplished anything 
material toward attaining that specified enviable 
position which was to make my relatives turn green 
with jealousy. Why was it that other men who 


THE MAKING OF A MILLIONAIRE. 20 / 


had not worked half as hard had become success- 
ful, had fame, friends, and influence ? Here was I 
after rubbing my nose against the grindstone for 
over three years — economizing, stinting myself and 
studying hard — with now scarcely a hundred dol- 
lars at my command. I asked myself why this 
was. 

I was lost for hours in a reverie from which I 
was awakened by the vigorous clanging of the bell 
announcing the readiness for departure of the train 
for New York city. An idea burst upon me like a 
clap of thunder. Hurrying to the ticket window, 
I exchanged my Cleveland ticket for a passage to 
New York city. 

Arriving at the latter place, I engaged elegant 
quarters at the Fifth A^nue hotel. I ordered the 
following advertisement to be inserted in the daily 
newspapers, paying double rates to have it printed 
in a prominent place among the news headings : 

PARTNER WANTED A British nobleman 
who has just discovered a remarkable article, de- 
sires to form a partnership for the manufacture and 
sale of such patented invention. A capitalist of 
$10,000 or more investable cash may have particu- 
lars by calling on Lord Dashy, at the Fifth Avenue 
Hotel. 

In re.sponse to that advertisement, thirty-four 
responsible people called upon me. A day was 
fixed for holding a meeting of these thirty-four, 
whereat I was to disclose my patented secret and 
possibly form a stock-company. The meeting was 
held with closed doors, and resulted in the forma- 
tion of a stock association with a capital of 


208 


THE MAKING OF A MILLIONAIRE. 


|'3 50,000, each of the thirty-four putting in $10,000 
cash, while I was given a receipt for a similar 
amount in paid-up stock, this being in considera- 
tion of my remarkable discovery. 

Lord Dashy was elected president of the board 
of directors. A farm of twenty-eight acres was 
purchased by the new company in that part of 
New York city called Westchester, and on this 
was erected, under my supervision, several tanks, 
each with a twenty-five thousand barrel capacity. 

These tanks were then filled half full with water 
from the East River, and when this had been done 
several wagon loads of green tamarac, cedar, bal- 
sam, pine, maple, and willow-trees were distributed 
among the tanks. Five hundred barrels of castor 
oil were next dumped into each of these immense 
reservoirs, after which followed three hundred bar- 
rels of the blackest molasses. A couple of wagon- 
loads of salt, and a like amount of sawdust and 
other mill refuse from the near-by planing mills 
were drawn up beside each vat, and thrown there- 
into by alternate shovelfuls. When all this had 
been dumped into the tanks, a cover or lid with a 
ten ton weight was placed on each tank. 

A four-story brick building nearer to Harlem, 
which was erected for a Bible publishing house, 
but which was abandoned by the promoters as 
there was no money in the business, was next pur- 
chased by our company. 

The front half of the first floor of this structure 
was fitted up for offices of directors and clerical 
staff, and into the rear of this ground floor was run 


THE MAKING OF A MILLIONAIRE. 


209 


a pipe from each of the oil-tanks on the farm. In 
this place were deposited twenty-five thousand 
pint bottles we had ordered from the Salt City 
glass factory when the company was formed, with 
a request to keep in readiness to fill an order 
for as many more bottles within a ten-days’ no- 
tice. One hundred men were engaged in this 
room, their duty being to fill the bottles, with the 
now stagnant liquid, from the tank pipes. 

The second floor was called the corking depart- 
ment. When the bottles were filled on the lower 
floor they were hoisted to this department by an 
elevator. Here the bottles were arranged in long 
regular rows by one gang of workmen, while an- 
other force of men poured Jtwo spoonfuls of pepper- 
mint into each bottle. Still another shift of men 
followed, the latter placing a cork in each bottle, 
and forcing it into the neck by striking the cork 
with a hammer. 

When one lot of bottles h:id been pepperminted 
and corked, it was elevated to the next floor where 
nimble-fingered girls and women pasted on each 
bottle a K. I. S. S. label. 

From here the bottles were sent to the top-floor, 
where a staff of men and boys placed them in 
cases, each holding a dozen pints. 

From this floor the cases of bottles were lowered 
to the yard, where they were placed on drays and 
conveyed to the various railroad stations, whence 
they were shipped to all quarters of North 
America. 

When this tanking, bottling, corking, labelling, 


210 


THE MAKING OF A MILLIONAIRE. 


packing, and shipping was well under weigh, the 
large staff of clerks were kept continually busy. 
Realizing that nobody will ever read an advertise- 
ment in a newspaper unless inveighled, decoyed, 
deluded, and fooled into doing so, I dictated seven 
hundred and thirty paragraphs (two for each day 
in the year), each of which paragraphs I began 
with a most literary, or newsy, or sensational sen- 
tence. Here are a few samples : 

“The Japanese pay their doctor only 
as long as he keeps them in health. 

They prefer prevention of disease to 
curing it. This is good sense, and the 
strongest commendation of a K. I. S. S., 
which not only cures but prevents." , 

“ In an age of fraud and adulteration, 
it is most gratifying to know that KISS 
may be relied on as strictly pure." 

“ Don’t blow out your brains because 
you have an incurable disease. The 
best thing to do is to take a K. I. S. S.’’ 

“ A wolf in sheep’s clothing is the 
substitute offered for a K. I. S. S. If 
you don’t want to be bitten be sure you 
geta K. I. S. S.” 

“ Pallor, languidness, and the appear- 
ance of ill-health, being no longer fash- 
ionable among ladies a KISS is pre- 
ferred by almost every knowing woman 
in preference to other remedies." 

“Is this weather too hot for you.? is 
a silly question when the thermometer 
is registering ninety-seven degrees in the 
shade; but you’ll find that the men who 
suffer most from the heat are those who 
have never tried a K. I. S. S.” 

“For pity’s sake don’t grumble and 
growl because you are troubled with the 
gout. Take a K. I. S. S. and be done 
with it.” 

“ ‘ Si.x days shalt thou labor,’ says the 


the making of a millionaire. 


21 I 


Lord of Creation. To do fine work 
man must liave fine health. That is 
ensured by taking a K. 1. S. S.” 

I knew full well that a vast majority of people 
would be decoyed by attractive sentencing, and 
would read the paragraphs to the end, but perhaps 
“ kick themselves for being roped in,” as the peo- 
ple say. But once convince a man that a thing is 
good for his blood, and even if it be bicycle riding 
you recommend you will invariably find that the 
thing will cure his blood disease. Influence of 
mind over matter is my whole secret. 

The largest printing-office in the State received 
an order for the immediate printing of hundreds of 
thousands of little pamphlets, containing these 
seven hundred and thirty decoys, over each two 
of which, was printed a different date, beginning 
January ist, and ending with December 31st. 

The job was stereotyped and all the cylinder 
presses of Fake & Fake in a Twenty-Fifth street 
printing office were kept running day and night 
until the ordered number of books had been struck 
off. The whole printing establishment was next 
engaged in folding and stitching these little books, 
so that in less than no time the literature was 
ready for the use of the K. I. S. S. company. 

Orders were next issued for the printing upon 
the backs of postal cards, numbering as many as 
the paragraph books, the following : 


New York City, So-forih-and-.so-on. 

Gentlemen Kindly insert among the local news items of your paper the 
paragraphs of the book forwarded to you by the same mail. These notices must 


2i2 


TliE xMAKiNG OF A MlLLlONAluF. 


be the first “ paid” notices in a column and must follow, be followed by, and 
adjoin news matter. 

Insert the two notices on different pages, under the date in the book which 
correspond with the date of your issue. Send us a marked copy of each issue 
and your bill, at the end of the year. 

Respectfully Yours, 

The K. I. S. S. Co. 


These cards and books were sent into one daily 
and one weekly paper in every village town or city 
in North America. 

Thousands of newspapers soon poured into the 
office daily, and at the end of a fortnight, we had 
received orders for hundreds of dozens of K. I. S. S. 
Before a month had passed we had sold thousands 
of dozens, and from then to the present day the 
monthly orders never fell below hundreds of thou- 
sands of dozens. 

We immediately bought more land, greatly ex- 
tended our facilities, increased our office and fac- 
tory forces by many hundred per cent, and then 
we ordered additional circulars to be printed. 
They read as follows : 


New York City, Such a date. 

Gentlemen : — Kindly insert the following advertisement in each of your 
issues for one year. If your paper is a daily or weekly make ad. one-half sin- 
gle column, if a monthly literary magazine make ad. whole page. 

Our advertisements must in all ca'-es adjoin news items or other unpaid-for 
reading matter. 

Change the name of the place of residence of the party whose name is printed 
in Italics, to some city very distant to that in which your paper is published. 

Mail us a marked copy of each of your issues, and your bill at the end of the 
year. 

Respectfully Yours, 

The K. I. S. S. Co. 


THE MAKING OF A MILLIONAIRE. 


213 


“Miss Angelina Smith, the pretty- 
belle of Los Angeles, Cal. writes : “ For 

years I was troubled with rheumatic 
trouble of the chest. A friend recom- 
mended a K. I. S. S. I took one and I am 
now well. It is hard stuff to swallow, 
but I found it the best thing in the world 
after using everything else.” 

[If the publishers have a cut of some 
nude or semi-nude female, please insert 
here.] 

’ A K. I. S. S. cures all ! 

Biliousness, rheumatism, indigestion, 
sallow skin, bad taste in the mouth, fits, 
headache, bilious attacks, nervousness, 
torpid liver, loss of appetite, lame back, 
pimples, depression of spirits, in fact 
every disease is cured by Kenyon’s In- 
fallible System Strengthener. 

It costs only a dollar. If your druggist 
does not keep it, send Us your dollar and 
we’ll do the rest. 

These circulars were sent to the same number of 
newspapers to which we had sent the postal cards, 
and to the monthly literary magazines, school cat- 
alogues, college prospectuses, etc. 

Certainly this advertising cost the K. I. S. S. Co. 
a large fortune each year. Nevertheless the medi- 
cine, including advertising, tanking, bottling, cork- 
ing, labelling, shipping, and office expenditures 
cost the K. 1. S. S. Co. a very small portion of a 
cent per pint, so that at the end of five years, the 
capital stock of the company was worth many mil- 
lions, and my own interest could have been easily 
sold for $3,ooo,0(X> in cold cash. 

Then I retired from the board of directors, sat- 
isfied that my relatives had turned green with 
envy. 


214 


THE MAKING OF A MILLIONAIRE 


THE LAST NUMBER BUT ONE. 

WHEREIN I REACH THE END OF MY ROPE. 

While I was deeply absorbed in the workings 
of my new company my dear mother fell from her 
saddle while riding on her Irish estate. She died 
the following week without my knowing anything 
of the sad accident, until informed of it some weeks 
later in a letter from Fritz Michum, who was then 
in Ireland 

I was now the Earl of Dashford. Father had 
managed the affairs of the estate during the occu- 
pancy of my poor mother. When the title proper 
had passed to me I continued father as my agent, 
so that when I retired from the- K. I. S. S. Co. and 
visited my Irish property everything was in a flour- 
ishing condition ; the countenances of my tenants 
denoted peaceful enjoyment of life. 

Reading in the Dublin Freeman, that Fred- 
erick Michum, Esq., and his wife the Baroness of 
Taschereau, with their six-year-old daughter Sybil, 
were visiting in the capital I telegraphed them to 
come down and visit me. Regularly every six 
months since their marriage I had received a letter 
from Fritz, so that I knew Sir Blue-Blood no longer 
was, and that the present heir apparent was named 
after my old love Sybil, 


THE MAKING OF A MILLIONAIRE. 21 5 

The family could not come down to Dashford 
castle, but positively insisted that I should visit 
them at their Wessex estate, to which they were on 
the point of returning. I was right glad to see 
them. Eight years had now elapsed since the mid- 
night revels we had had in Salt City, and the 
Michums had not been in America since. 

They had living with them a fine little golden- 
haired, rosy-cheeked fellow, presumably eight or 
nine years of age. He was the son of a friend of 
theirs, they told me when I asked them, and they 
had kept him in their household since the child’s 
father had died a number of years ago. A fascinat- 
ing air about the little fellow insinuated a fondness 
in my heart for him. To utilize the expression 
which American girls make use of occasionally, “he 
was too ’cute for anything,” in his blue sailor suit 
of long trousers with white stripes running down 
the outer leg-seams, and loose blouse with a white 
silk four-in-hand tied loosely about his negligee 
collar. I drew him on my knee, pressed him to my 
side and held one of his hands in my own while the 
other I slipped around his waist. Soon I kissed 
the boy. Feeling inclined to make myself agree- 
able to him I said : 

“ My, my, but you are a fine little chap ! Now 
won’t you tell your visitor your name : 

With winning sauciness he replied : 

“ Certainly, sir, with pleasure ; my name is Philip 
Daniels.” 

“ Philip Daniels !” I ejaculated with a two “ em 
dash and a point of exclamation between each syl- 


2i6 


THE MAKING OF A MILLIONAIRE. 


lable, as I looked around in vain for an explanation 
from Fritz or Tillie. They had both absconded. 

“ And what is your papa’s name, Philip ?” I asked 
him after a few moments’ cessation of heart-beating. 

“ Please do not call me Philip, sir, mamma and I 
prefer me to be addressed as “ P'il.” I don’t know 
what my father’s name is, sir.” 

But you know your mamma’s name, Fil, don’t 
you ?” I cried, venturing faintly to hope, but his 
doubtful answer was : 

“ Aunt Tillie calls her ‘ Sybil,’ sir, but I call her 
mamma.” 

My heart was leaping up into my mouth every 
second, and out again immediately as it dawned 
upon me suddenly that the boy’s face bore a 
striking resemblance to a miniature of myself, 
painted when I was a baby, and which I had often 
seen hanging around my mother’s neck. 

“ And how long has it been since you have seen 
your mother ?” I continued in astonishment, “ and 
where was she living then .P’ 

The boy seemed to have been drilled to make 
his answer, for his tone was measured and half 
dramatic as he said : 

“ I saw her, sir, about one hour ago, and she is 
now asleep in the next room.” 

Reclining on a dozen cushions, placed on the 
sofa in the darkened library, her hair whitened, her 
face thinner, but full of expression, and a few 
indistinct wrinkles about the eyes, yet withal much 
more beautiful than ever before, slept my long lost 
Sybil. She did not know I had been within a 


THE MAKING OF A MILLIONAIRE. 


217 


thousand miles of the library when she had fallen 
asleep 

At the instigation of Tillie, and after the death 
of Chief Clerk Dupont, Fritz had engaged some 
private dectectives to search for Sybil. They had 
found her in the sixth floor of a dilapidated tene- 
ment-house, with dozens of other poor women, 
working from daylight till dark, making men’s 
white linen shirts for ninety-four cents per dozen, 
with which money she had contrived to keep her 
son and herself from outright starvation 

Tillie and Michum both wished to write me, in- 
forming me of Sybil’s recovery, but the poor dear 
girl herself had earnestly begged them to write 
nothing to me about her, fearing that I had long 
since grown to despise her. What a foolish wife 
is Sybil. 


2i8 


THE MAKING OF A MILLIONAIRE. 


THE VERY LAST NUMBER OF THE 
STRETCHES. 

CONCLUDING OBSERVATIONS. 

Ten years have elapsed between the reunion of 
Sybil and myself and the present day. We make 
frequent visits to the Taschereau estate, while the 
Taschereaus are regular visitors at Dashford Castle. 

Between the reader, myself, and the little cat in 
the bag that cannot speak, the outlook savors 
very much of the fusion of the estates of Taschereau 
and Dashford, and that some day one man may 
write his name “ Earl Dashford and Baron Tas- 
chereau in the peerage of Great Britain, etc,, 
etc.” 

Well, I might as well let the secret out now as 
well as any other time. Philip Warren Daniels, 
Jr. (Lord Dashy), and Lady Sybil Taschereau 
will be married in the ivy-clad parish church of 
Eniminster next June. 

Old Warren is still breathing freely, but his last 
will and testament gives his all to the son of his 
daughter Sybil. 

Although repeatedly invited to do so Tillie, 
Sybil, Fritz, and I have never accepted the invi- 
tation of Mrs. Vanderastor, one of the social 


THE MAKING OF A MILLIONAIRE. 


219 


goddesses of New York, to visit her at her palatial 
Fifth avenue home. 

The winter we four spend in London, the hot 
summers in Italy or Germany, and the other 
seasons in different parts of the world. 

There’s nothing to trouble Sybil and me. I 
love her very dearly and she says she loves me. 

Every three months I receive a large dividend 
from my patent-medicine company, New York 
City. 


THE END, 





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1898 





THIS LIST EMBRACES NEAEL'X 

FIVE HUNDRED AMERICAN 
COPYRIGHT BOOKS, 


BY THE BEST AND MOST POPULAR A V THORS. 


All handsomely bound In cloth, with gilt 
backs, suitable for libraries. 


The Publishers, on receipt of price, will send any booh o. 
this Catalogue by mail, postage free. 


G. W. DILLINGHAM CO., Publishers, 

119 & 121 WEST 23(i STREET, NEW YORK. 


C. IV. DILLINGHAM CO.'S. PUBLICATIONS. 


■/ 


Mary J. Holmes’ HovelSa 

* Mrs. Holmes* stories are universally read. Her admirers are numberless. She is in 
jtny respects without a rival in the world of fiction. Her characters are always life- 
.ke, and she makes them talk and act like human beings, subject to the same emotions, 
swayed by the same passions, and actuated by the same motives which are common among 
men and women of everyday e.xistence.” 


Tempest and Sunshine 

English Orphans 

Homestead on the Hillside. 

'Lena Rivers 

Meadow Brook. . . 

Oora Deane 

Cousin Maude 

Marian Grey o . . . . 

Edith Lyle ...» 

f)aisy Thornton 

Chateau D’Or 

(^ueenie Hetherton 

Bessie’s Fortune 

Marguerite . . . 

Mrs. Hallam’s Companion .. 


50 

50 

50 

50 

50 

50 

I 50 

I 
I 
I 
I 
I 
I 
I 


50 

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Darkness and Daylight $i 50 

Hugh Worthington ........ i 50 

Cameron Pride i 50 

Rose Mather i 50 

Ethelyn’s Mistake i 50 

Millbank i 50 

Edna Browning i 50 

West Lawn i 50 

Mildred i 50 

Forrest House i 50 

Madeline i 50 

Christmas Stories i 50 

Gretchen i 50 

Dr. Hathern’s Daughters. . . i 50 


.1 SOlPaul Ralston {New) 1 50 


May Agnes Fleming’s Novels. 

“ Mrs. Fleming's stories are growing more and more popular every day. Th'^ir delin 
cations of character, lifelike conversations, flashes of wit, constantly varyina scenes, and 
deeply interesting plots, Combine to place their author in the very first rai>^ Modern 
Novelists.” 


Guy Earlscourt’s Wife. . . 


50 

Heir of Charlton 


A Wonderful Woman . . . 


50 

Carried by Storm 


A Terrible Secret 


50 

Lost for a Woman. 


A Mad Marriage 


50 

A Wife’s Tragedy.. 


Morine’s Revenge 


50 

A Changed Heart 


One Night’s Mystery. . . . 


50 

Pride and Passion 


Kate Danton 


50 

Sharing Her Crime 


oilent and True 


50 

A Wronged Wife. 


Maude Percy’s Secret . . . 


50 

The Actress’ Daughter 


The Midnight Queen . . . . 


50 

The Queen of the Isle 


Edita Peicival 


qol Wedded for Pique {New). . 

. I 


5 c 

50 

50 

50 

5 « 

50 

i)0 

50 

50 

50 

SO 


G. W. DILLINGHAM CO:S. PUBLICATIONS, 


3 


Augusta J. Evans’ Novels. 


“Who has not read with rare delight the novels of Augusta Evans? Her strange, 
«»c>nderful, and fascinating style; the v>rofouiid depths to which she sinks the probe into 
Viuman nature, touching its most sacred chords and springs; the intense interest thrown 
iiound her chaiacters, and the very marked peculiarities ot her principal figures, conspire 
i ) give an unusual interest to the works of this eminent Southern authoress.” 


Beulah. 
Macaria 
I nez, . . , 


Si 75 
I 75 
I 75 


St. Elmo. . 
Vashti. . . . 
Infelice. . . 


At the Mercy of Tiberius.. .. 2 oo 


$2 OO 
2 OO 
2 OO 


ST. ELMO, Magnolia Edition, 2 vols.Zvo„ Magnificently Illustrated 
with 30 Photogravure aftd Half-tone Engravings. Per set, $6.00. 


Julie P. Smith’s Novels. 


“ The novels by this author are of unusual merit, uncommonly well written, clevet 
»nd characterized by great wit and vivacity. They are growing popular r'nd more popular 
every day.” 


Widow Goldsmith’s Daugh- 


The Widower 

ter 

.$i 50 

The Married Belle.... 

Chris and Otho 

. I 50 

Courting and Farming 

Ten Old Maids 

I 50 

Kiss and Be Friends. . • 

I^ucy 

1 I ^o 

Blossom Bud , . 

His Young Wife 

, I 50 



$I 50 
I 50 
L 50 

I 50 

I 50 


Marion Harland’s Novels. 


“ The Novels of Marion Harland are of surpassing excellence. By intrinsic power 
hf character-drawing and descriptive facility, they hold the reader’s attention with th 
nost intense interest and fascination.” 


Alone 

Hidden Path . . . 

Moss Side 

Nemesis 

Miriam 

Sunny Bank. . . . 
Ruby’s Husband 
At Last 


II 50 
I 50 
I 50 
I 50 
I 50 
I 50 
I 50 
I Ko 


My Little Love 

Phemie’s Temptation. 

The Empty Heart 

From My Youth Up. . 

Helen Gardner 

Husbands and Homes 

Jessamine, 

True as Steel 


I jO 
I 50 
I 50 

I 5 
I 5 ■ 
I 5<: 
I SC 

I 50 


G. IV. DILLINGHAM CO:S. PUBLICATIONS. 


4 


Albert Hoss' Kovels. 


New Clot ' Boimd Editions. 

“There is a great difference between the productions of Albert Ross and those of 
so^,»e of the sensational writers of recent date. When he depicts vice he Oces it with an 
artistic touch, but he never makes it attractive. Mr. Ross’ dramatic insiincts are stroitg 
His chaiacte.s become m his hands living, moving creatures.’' 


Thou Shalt Not 

Speaking of Ellen 

Her Husbana’s Friend. . 

The Garston Bigamy 

Thy Neighbor's Wife 

Voung Miss Giddy 

Out of Wedlock. 

Voung Fawcett’s Mabel. 
His Foster Sister , • 



His Private Character 

. I 00 

In Stella’s Shadow. . . 

I 00 

Moulding a Maiden . . 

. I 00 

Why Fm Single 


An Original Sinner. . 


Love at Seventy 

. I 00 

A Black Adonis 

. I 00 

Love Gone Astray. 


.$! oolTheir Marriage Bond, 


$r oo 
, I oo 
, I oo 
I oo 
I oo 
I oo 
I oo 
I oo 
I oo 


John Esten Cooke’s Works. 


“The thrilling historic stories of John Esten Cooke must be classed among the best 
and most popular of all American writers. The great contest between the States was the 
theme he chose for his Historic Romances. Following until the close of the war the for- 
tunes of Stuart, Ashby, Jackson, and Lee, he returned to “ I’.agle’s Nest,’’ his old home, 
where, in the quiet of peace, he wrote volume after volume, intense in dramatic interest.” 


Surry of Eagle’s Nest 

Fairfax 

Hilt to Flilt 

Beatrice Hallam 

Leather and Silk 

Miss Bonnybel 

Out of the Foam 



Hammer and Rapier 


Mohun 


Captain Ralph 

.. .. I 50 

Col. Ross of Piedmont 


Robert E. Lee 


Stonewall Jackson,. . 

.... I 50 

Her Majesty the Queen. . . 


ii 50 
I 50 
I 50 
1 50 
I 50 
I 50 
1 50 


A. S» Hoe’s Kovels. 

'• There is no writer of the present day who excels A. S. Roe, in his particular line of 
fiction. He is distinguished by his fidelity to nature, his freedom from affectation, his 
sympathy with the interests of everyday existence and his depth and sincerity of feeling 
His stories appeal to the heart and strengthen and refresh it.” 


True to the Last. 

.i-i Long Look Ahead 

I'ne Star and the Cloud 

t ve Been Thinking 

How Could He Help It 

L ^ e and Unlike 


$i 50 To Love and To Be Loved . . 


I 50 
I 50 


Time and Tide. 

Woman Our Angel, 


I 50’Looking Around. 


I 50|The Cloud on the Heart. 
T 50] Resolution ..... 


$i 5G 
I 50 
I 50 
I 50 
I 50 

I CC 



G. W. DILLINGHAM COMPANY, 

PUBLISHERS, 

119 & 121 West 23d Street, New York. 


MRS. MARY J. HOLMES’ NOVELS. 
Over THREE MILLION Sold. 


“ Mrs. Holmes’ stories are universally read. Her admirers are numberless. She is 
in many respects without a rival in the world of fiction. Her rha acters are always life- 
like, and she makes them talk and act like human beings, subject to the same emotioix, 
swayed by the same passions, and actuated by the same motives which are common among 
men and women of everyday existence,” 


Tempest and Sunshine. 
English Orphans. 
Homestead on the Hillside. 
Meadow Brook. 

Christmas Stories. 

Cameron Pride. 

Darkness and Daylight, 
Hugh Worthington. 

Fori-est House. 

Dr, Hathern’s Daughters. 


Chateau D’Or. 

Queenie Hetherton. 
Bessie’s Fortune. 

’Lena Rivers. 

Rose Mather, 

Cousin Maude. 

Marian Grey. 

Ethelyn’s Mistake. 
Madeline. 

Mrs. Hallam’s Companion. 
Price $1.50 per Vol. 


M illbank. 

Edna Br< wning. 

West Lawn. 

Dora Deane. 

Edith Lyle. 

Gretchen. 

Daisy Thornton. > 

Mildred. 

Marguerite. 

Paul Ralston (New). 


AUGUSTA J. EVANS’ 

MAGNIFICENT NOVELS. 

“Who has not read with rare delight the novels of Augusta Evans? Her strange, 
wonderful, and fascinating style; the profound depths to which she sinks the probe into 
human nature, touching its most sacred chords and springs; the intense interest thrown 
around her characters, and the very marked peculiarities of her principal figures, conspire 
'.»give an unusual interest to the works of this eminent Southern authoress” 

Macaria, $1.75 Beulah, $i 75 St. Elmo, $2.00 Vashti, $2.00 

Inez, $i 75 Infelice, $2.00 At the INIercy of Tiberius, $2.00 (New). 

MARION HARLAND’S 

SPLENDID NOVELS. 


( “ Marion Harland understands the art of constructing aplot which will gain the atten* 
tiq'n of the reader at the beginning, and keep up the interest to the last page.” 


Alone. Miriam. Phemie’s Temptation. 

Hidden Path. Sunny Bank. My Little Love. 

Moss Side. Ruby’s Husband. The Empty Heart. 
Nemesis. At Last. From My Youth Up. 

Price $1.50 per Vol. 


Helen Gardner. 
Husbands and Homes. 
Jessamine. 

True as Steel. 


MAY AGNES FLEMING’S 

POPULAR NOVELS. 

“Mrs. Fleming’s stories are growing more and more popular every day. Their life- 
like conversations, flashes of wit, constantly varying scenes, and deeply interesting plots 
combine to place their author in the very first rank of Modern Novelists. 


A Wonderful Woman. 
One Night’s Mystery. 
Guy Earlscourt’s Wife. 
The Actress’ Daughter. 
The Queen of the Isle. 
Edith Percival. 


A Changed Heart. Kate Danton. Pride and Passion. 
Silent and True. A Terrible Secret. A Wronged Wife. 

Sharing Her Crime. Carried by Storm. A Wife’s Tragedy. 
Maude Percy’s Secret. Heir of Charlton. Lost for a Woman. 
The Midnight Queen. A Mad Marriage. Norine’s Revenge. 
Wedded for Pique. A Fateful Abduction (New). 

Price $1.50 per Vol. 


All the books on this list are handsomely printed and bound in cloth, sold 
everywhere, and by mail, postage free, on receipt of price by 

G- W. Dillingham Co., Publishers, 

33 West 23d Street, New York, 


•VULIE P. NOVELS. 

“ 'fhe novels by 'his auth<'r aie of ”nusual merit, uncommonly well wriiien, cb 
and characterized by great wit and vivacity. They are growing popular and more pop 
every' day. ’ 

Widow Goldsmith’s Daughter. Chris and Otho. Ten Old Maids. The Wido 

Courting and Farming. The Married Belle. Blossom Bud. Lucy. 

KibS and be Friends. His Young Wife. 

Price $1.50 per Vol. 


ALBERT ROSS’ NOVELS. 


New Cloth Bound Editio7is, 


“ There is a great difference between the productions of Albert Ross and thos 
some of the sensational writers of recent date. When he depicts vice he does it will 
artistic touch, but he never makes it attractive. Mr. Ros^’ dramatic instincts are str 
His characters become in his hands living, moving creatures.’^ 


Thy Neighbor’s Wile. Young Miss Giddy. Why I’m Single. 
Her Husband’s Friend. Speaking of Ellen. Love at Sev'>ity. 
The Garston Bigamy. Moulding a Maiden. Thou Shalt Not. 
His Private Character. In Stella’s Shadow. A Bl.ack Adonis. 
Young Fawcett’s Mabel. Their Marriage Bond. (New). 

Price f i.oo per Vol. 


An Original Sin 
Out of Wedlock 
Love Gone A sir; 
HiS Foster Siste 


JOHN ESTEN COOKE’S WORKS. 

“ The thrilling historic stories of John Esten Cooke must be classed among the : 
and most popular of all American writers, d'he great content between the Stales wai 
theme he chose for his Historic Romances. Following until the close of the war the 
tunes of Stuart, Ashby, Jackson, and Lee, he returned to “ Eagle's Ne^t ” his old he 
where, in the quiet of peace, he wrote volume after volume, intense in di ainatic intert 


Surry of Eagle’s Nest, 
Leather and Silk. 
Hammer and Rapier. 
Col. Ross of Piedmont. 


CELIA E. 


Faiifax. Hilt to Hilt. 

Miss Bonnybel. Out of the Foam 
Captain Ralph. Stonewell Jackson. 
Her Majesty the Queen. 

Price $1.50 per Vol. 


Beatrice Hal 
M «hun. 
Kobei t E. L< 


GARDNER’S NOVELS. 


“ Mi<s Gardner’s works are becoming more and more popular every year, and 
will continue to be popular long after ma.iy of our present favorite writers are forgott 


Stolen Wa'ers. (Iti verse). 

Rich Medway. 

A Woman’s Wiles, 

Bioken Dreams. Do. 

Compensation. Do. 

Terrace Roses. 

A Twisted Skein. Do. 

Seraph — or Mortal ? 

Tested. 

Won Under Protest. (New) 
Price $1.50 per Vol. 


CAPTAIN MAYNE REID’S WORKS. 


“ Captain Mayne Reid’s works are of an intensely interesting and fascinating chara 
Nearly all of them being founded upon some historical event, they possess a peima 
value while presenting a thrilling, earnest, dashing fiction surpassed by no novel ot the d 


The Scalp Hunters. 
The War TraiL 
The, Maroon. 
The’Ti^er Hunter, 
Osceola, the Seminole. 
Lost Lenore. 


The Rifle Rangers. 

The Wood Rangers. 

The Rangers and Regulators. 
The Hunter’s Feast, 

The Quadroon. 


The Headless Hor'^ei 
The Wild Htimros. 
The White Chief. 
Wild Life. 

The White Gauntlet 


Price $1.50 per Vol. 


All the books on this list are handsomely printed and bound in cioth, 
everywhere, and by mail, postage free, on receipt of price by 



G. W. Dillingham Co., Publishei 

33 West Street, TsTew York. 


AUCUSTA J. EVANS’' 

IN C 

MAGNIFICENT NOVELS. 

INEZ, SI. 75 

MACARIA, 1.75 

BEULAH, ...... 1.75 

VASHTI, 2.00 

INFELICE 2.00 

AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS, 2.00 

ST. ELMO, 2.00 

OT. E LMO, Edition, 'ivols.^vo., Magnificently 

Illustrated 'with 30 Photogravure and Half-tone Engravings, 
Per set, $6.00 


A Prominent Critic says of these Novels. 


“ The author’s style is beautiful, chaste, and elegant^ 
Her ideals are clothed in the most fascinating imagery, and 
her power of delineating character is truly remarkable. One 
of the marked and striking characteris-tics of each and all 
her works is the purity of sentiment which pervades every 
line, every page, and every chapter. ’ 


IB. 


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handsomely printed and bound in cloth, sold everywhere, 
and sent by mail, postage free, on receipt of price, by 



G. W. Dillingham Co., Publishers, 

33 West 23d Street, New York. 


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